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"There is no legal justification for this military strike," said one Amnesty International campaigner. "The US must be held accountable."
President Donald Trump said Monday that the US carried out a fresh strike on what he said was a boat used by Venezuelan drug gangs, killing three people in what one human rights campaigner called another "extrajudicial execution."
"This morning, on my Orders, US Military Forces conducted a SECOND Kinetic Strike against positively identified, extraordinarily violent drug trafficking cartels and narcoterrorists in the [US Southern Command] area of responsibility," Trump said on his Truth Social network. "The Strike occurred while these confirmed narcoterrorists from Venezuela were in International Waters transporting illegal narcotics (A DEADLY WEAPON POISONING AMERICANS!) headed to the US."
"These extremely violent drug trafficking cartels POSE A THREAT to US National Security, Foreign Policy, and vital US Interests," the Republican president continued. "The Strike resulted in three male terrorists killed in action. No US Forces were harmed in this Strike."
"BE WARNED—IF YOU ARE TRANSPORTING DRUGS THAT CAN KILL AMERICANS, WE ARE HUNTING YOU!" Trump added. "The illicit activities by these cartels have wrought DEVASTATING CONSEQUENCES ON AMERICAN COMMUNITIES FOR DECADES, killing millions of American Citizens. NO LONGER. Thank you for your attention to this matter!!!"
US President Trump just announced that a second drug smuggling boat from Venezuela was hit by a US airstrike in the Caribbean, killing 3 people on board the boat.#Venezuela pic.twitter.com/dO34gYr9GZ
— CNW (@ConflictsW) September 15, 2025
Responding to arguments by legal experts and Venezuelan officials that the September 2 strike was illegal, Trump said Sunday that "what's illegal are the drugs that were on the boat... and the fact that 300 million people died last year from drugs."
Only 62 million people died in the entire world of all causes last year, making Trump's claim impossibly false.
Monday's attack followed the September 2 bombing of a vessel allegedly transporting cocaine off the Venezuelan coast, a strike that killed 11 people. Venezuelan officials say none of the 11 men were members of the Tren de Aragua gang, as claimed by Trump.
On his first day back in the White House, Trump signed an executive order designating drug cartels as foreign terrorist organizations. Last month, the president reportedly signed a secret order directing the Pentagon to use military force to combat drug cartels abroad, sparking fears of renewed US aggression in a region that has endured well over 100 US attacks, invasions, occupations, and other interventions since the issuance of the dubious Monroe Doctrine in 1823.
The Intercept's Nick Turse reported Monday that the Trump administration's recently rebranded Department of War "is thwarting congressional oversight" of the September 2 attack.
“I’m incredibly disturbed by this new reporting that the Trump administration launched multiple strikes on the boat off Venezuela,” Congresswoman Sara Jacobs (D-Calif.) said in response to Turse's reporting. “They didn’t even bother to seek congressional authorization, bragged about these killings—and teased more to come.”
Common Dreams reported last week that Congresswoman Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) introduced a war powers resolution seeking to restrain Trump from conducting attacks in the Caribbean.
Also last week, Sen. Tim Kaine (D-Va.) led a letter signed by two dozen Democratic colleagues and Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) asserting that the Trump administration offered "no legitimate justification" for the first boat strike.
It's not just congressional Democrats who have decried Trump's September 2 attack. Last week, Sen. Rand Paul (R-Ky.) said that "the recent drone attack on a small speedboat over 2,000 miles from our shore without identification of the occupants or the content of the boat is in no way part of a declared war, and defies our longstanding Coast Guard rules of engagement."
“What a despicable and thoughtless sentiment it is to glorify killing someone without a trial," Paul later added.
Paul also mirrored Democratic lawmakers' questioning of Trump's narrative that the boat bombed on September 2 was heading to the United States.
Echoing congressional critics, Daphne Eviatar, director of Amnesty International's Security With Human Rights program, said of Monday's attack, "Today, President Trump claimed his administration carried out another lethal strike against a boat in the Caribbean."
"This is an extrajudicial execution, which is murder," Eviatar added. "There is no legal justification for this military strike. The US must be held accountable."
"U.S. military service is the strongest predictor of carrying out extremist violence," noted one expert.
As right-wing figures blamed factors ranging from Islam to the Biden administration's nonexistent "open borders policy" for the deadly New Year's Day attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas, progressive observers noted Thursday that the men who carried out those attacks both served in the U.S. military, which one historian called "a consistent incubator of violence that returns home."
Republican U.S. President-elect Donald Trump was among those weighing in on the New Orleans attack, in which authorities say 42-year-old Shamsud Din-Jabbar—who was killed at the scene during a shootout with police—plowed a pickup truck into a crowd of New Year's revelers on Bourbon Street, killing 15 people and wounding dozens more.
Apparently misinformed by an erroneous Fox News report, Trump falsely called Jabbar a career criminal and recent immigrant and attributed the New Orleans attack to President Joe Biden's "open border's (sic) policy."
"That Mr. Trump persists in deploying the politics of hate and bigotry is a bad sign for the U.S."
Jabbar was born and raised in Texas. He was an active-duty U.S. Army soldier from 2007-15 and a veteran of the war in Afghanistan.
"He was, in short, a patriotic American who did his part in fighting the War on Terror," Juan Cole wrote Thursday on his Informed Comment site. "He was not an immigrant or a member of a foreign criminal gang."
"That Mr. Trump persists in deploying the politics of hate and bigotry is a bad sign for the U.S.," Cole continued. "Even if Jabbar had been a immigrant, his actions would have said nothing about immigrants, who have low rates of criminality compared to the native-born population and whose productivity has been one key to American economic success."
"Nor is Jabbar's religion a reason to engage in Muslim-hatred," he asserted, decrying the New York Post for "ominously" reporting that "Jabbar referenced the Quran" and had animals including sheep, goats, and chickens in the backyard of his Houston home.
"D'oh," Cole added. "He was a Muslim. He also referenced the Quran when he was in Afghanistan as part of the U.S. Army's fight against the Taliban."
Matthew Livelsberger, the 37-year-old suspected driver of the Tesla Cybertruck blown ups outside the Trump International Las Vegas Hotel on Wednesday, was an active-duty U.S. Army soldier. The explosion of the truck, which was laden with fireworks and fuel canisters, injured seven people. Authorities said Livelsberger fatally shot himself inside the vehicle before the blast.
While given scant in-depth coverage in the U.S. corporate media, numerous observers highlighted the attackers' military backgrounds.
The Intercept's Nick Turse on Thursday published a piece asserting that "U.S. military service is the strongest predictor of carrying out extremist violence." Citing a new, unreleased report from researchers at the University of Maryland's National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START), Turse, who viewed the publication, noted that "from 1990 to 2010, about seven persons per year with U.S. military backgrounds committed extremist crimes," and that "since 2011, that number has jumped to almost 45 per year."
Turse continued:
From 1990 through 2023, 730 individuals with U.S. military backgrounds committed criminal acts that were motivated by their political, economic, social, or religious goals, according to data from the new START report. From 1990 to 2022, successful violent plots that included perpetrators with a connection to the U.S. military resulted in 314 deaths and 1,978 injuries—a significant number of which came from the 1995 bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
"Military service is also the single strongest individual predictor of becoming a 'mass casualty offender,' far outpacing mental health issues, according to a separate study of extremist mass casualty violence by the researchers," Turse added.
Both Jabbar and Livelsberger were once stationed at Fort Liberty, formerly Fort Bragg, in North Carolina. Although their time there overlapped, there is no indication that the men knew each other. Turse called Fort Liberty "an exceptionally troubled Army base."
"Investigations found, for example, that 109 soldiers assigned there died in 2020 and 2021," he wrote. "Ninety-six percent of those deaths took place stateside. Fewer than 20 were from natural causes. The remaining soldier fatalities, including macabre or unexplained deaths, homicides, and dozens of drug overdoses, were preventable."
The issue of violence committed by soldiers and veterans gained national attention during the height of the so-called War on Terrord—which is still ongoing—amid a wave of domestic and other killings and suicides attributed to post-traumatic stress disorder. According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA), more than 1 in 6 veterans of the Afghanistan or Iraq wars screened positive for PTSD, compared with about 1 in 10 nondeployed vets.
The VA also reported in 2018 that 1 in 4 male and 1 in 5 female veterans deployed during the War on Terror who received care from the agency had PTSD.
There is also the issue of who the military allowed to enlist. In an effort to fill the military's ranks during the War on Terror, some service branches lowered recruiting standards and allowed neo-Nazis, gang members, and other violent criminals to serve.
"This policy, which was behind many atrocities abroad, is now coming home," author Matt Kennard said Thursday on social media.
In 2022, Democratic U.S. lawmakers led by Rep. Brad Schneider (D-Ill.) introduced an amendment to 2023 military spending bill requiring the Pentagon and federal law enforcement agencies to publish a report on countering white supremacist and neo-Nazi activity in the armed forces.
The measure passed—without a single Republican vote.
"Here we have the AFRICOM/Wagner overlap," said journalist Nick Turse, referring to U.S. troops and Russian hired guns in the African nation.
Mali's U.S.-backed army and foreign fighters apparently from the Russian mercenary firm Wagner Group have forcibly disappeared and murdered dozens of civilians in the African nation's central region since last December, Human Rights Watch said Monday.
HRW interviewed 40 people including 20 eyewitnesses to atrocities perpetrated by Malian forces in the villages of Ouenkoro, Séguéla, Sossobé, and Thioffol, as well as numerous victims' relatives, community leaders, activists, and representatives of international organizations.
A 45-year-old mother of seven from Thioffol who was shot in the foot described a December 18, 2022 raid by Malian troops.
"One [soldier] asked us: 'Where are the men?' We said they were out grazing animals," she told HRW. "He replied: 'If we found your men, we would have massacred them.' He ordered us out, while other soldiers stole our silver bracelets, kitchen utensils, and water cans... As soldiers started leaving, one turned back, stood on the doorstep, and opened fire. Four of us died on the spot, including a girl."
Mali's army and mercenaries have been waging a U.S.-backed war against al-Qaeda-affiliated Jamaa Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) and rival Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (ISGS) in the Mopti and Ségou regions. The Pentagon's U.S. Africa Command (AFRICOM) is present and conducts operations in Mali.
As Nick Turse noted at The Intercept on Monday:
The U.S. has poured billions of dollars in military assistance into Mali and its neighbors over roughly two decades—enabling human rights abuses by providing weapons and training to militaries that have terrorized civilians, according to the United Nations, human rights advocacy groups, and the U.S. State Department. U.S.-trained military officers have also repeatedly conducted coups, including the putsch leader who toppled Mali's governments in 2020 and 2021. While the coups triggered restrictions on U.S. aid, Pentagon officials have pointed to Wagner's growing influence across Africa as a reason to keep the money flowing.
While Mali's military government, led by Interim President Col. Assimi Goïta since May 2021, has said that Russian military trainers are in the country as part of a bilateral agreement, it denies the presence of Wagner mercenaries.
"However," says HRW, "there is growing evidence of activities and abuses in Mali by [the] private military security company run by Yevgeny Prigozhin, a close ally of Russian President Vladimir Putin until tensions between the Russian defense ministry and Wagner Group escalated in Russia on June 24."
Survivors and witnesses in Ouenkoro, Séguéla, and Sossobé reported the participation of foreign, non-French-speaking fighters in the raids. These men were described as "white," "Russian," and "Wagner" and, according to HRW, committed just a fraction of the reported abuses.
Residents of Séguéla described how foreign fighters in three helicopters attacked the village on February 3, going door-to-door and rounding up men.
"There were almost only white Wagner soldiers, they led the whole operation," one man said. "They were heavily armed, masked, and wore camouflage uniforms and spoke a language we did not understand, but which was not French."
"They took random people, including very old men."
Another man claimed that "two white soldiers broke into my house, searched it, and took away all my wife's jewelry."
The invaders arrested 17 men between the age of 27 and 82, almost all of them members of the Fulani ethnic group.
"They selected 17 men whom they suspected were jihadists or their accomplices," one eyewitness said. "They took random people, including very old men."
More than three weeks later, a group of Séguéla villagers found the bodies of 13 men—including eight of those arrested on February 3—in a deserted area outside a nearby village. All of the victims were bound and appeared to have been shot; four also had their throats slit "to the point where the heads were almost completely cut off," according to one witness.
People interviewed by HRW also said that Malian and foreign forces tortured detainees to force confessions regarding their membership in Islamist groups. HRW has previously documented alleged summary executions, enforced disappearances, and incommunicado detentions by Malian forces in the region.
The apparent presence of Wagner mercenaries in Mali comes as the country's military government has expelled both the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA) and the thousands of French troops who had occupied parts of the country for nearly a decade, sometimes harming civilians, like in the January 2021 airstrike on a wedding party that killed 19 people.
The U.N. says 187 peacekeepers died during the 10-year Mali operation, which is set to fully wind down by the end of the year following Mali's request to leave.
According to the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project (ACLED), a data collection, analysis, and crisis mapping project, at least 5,750 people have been killed in over 1,740 incidents across Mali between January 2022 and March 2023. The conflict has spilled over into neighboring Sahel countries including Burkina Faso and has worsened a humanitarian crisis in which hundreds of thousands of people have been displaced and nearly 9 million people require humanitarian assistance.
The United States, United Kingdom, and European Union have sanctioned Ivan Maslov, who commands Wagner Group forces in Mali.
HRW, meanwhile, is calling on African transnational organizations to act against human rights violators in Mali.
"The U.N. peacekeepers' impending withdrawal makes it more crucial than ever for the Malian authorities to protect civilians and prevent further abuses during military operations," Carine Kaneza Nantulya, HRW's deputy Africa director, said in a statement Monday.
"The African Union and the Economic Community of West African States should express their concerns about grave abuses by the Malian armed forces and allied apparent Wagner Group fighters," she added, "and increase pressure on the Malian authorities to end these violations and hold those responsible to account."
"I think that when Americans talk about the Vietnam War ... we tend to talk only about ourselves. But if we really want to understand it ... or try to answer the fundamental question, 'What happened?' You've got to triangulate," says filmmaker Ken Burns of his celebrated PBS documentary series "The Vietnam War." "You've got to know what's going on. And we have many battles in which you've got South Vietnamese soldiers and American advisors or ... their counterparts and Vietcong or North Vietnamese. You have to get in there and understand what they're thinking."
"War is not combat, though combat is a part of war."
Burns and his co-director Lynn Novick spent 10 years on "The Vietnam War," assisted by their producer Sarah Botstein, writer Geoffrey Ward, 24 advisors, and others. They assembled 25,000 photographs, feature close to 80 interviews of Americans and Vietnamese, and spent $30 million on the project. The resulting 18-hour series is a marvel of storytelling, something in which Burns and Novick take obvious pride. "The Vietnam War" provides lots of great vintage film footage, stunning photos, a solid Age of Aquarius soundtrack, and plenty of striking soundbites. Maybe this is what Burns means by triangulation. The series seems expertly crafted to appeal to the widest possible American audience. But as far as telling us "what happened," I don't see much evidence of that.
Like Burns and Novick, I also spent a decade working on a Vietnam War epic, though carried out on a far more modest budget, a book titled "Kill Anything That Moves." Like Burns and Novick, I spoke with military men and women, Americans and Vietnamese. Like Burns and Novick, I thought I could learn "what happened" from them. It took me years to realize that I was dead wrong. That might be why I find "The Vietnam War" and its seemingly endless parade of soldier and guerrilla talking heads so painful to watch.
War is not combat, though combat is a part of war. Combatants are not the main participants in modern war. Modern war affects civilians far more and far longer than combatants. Most American soldiers and Marines spent 12 or 13 months, respectively, serving in Vietnam. Vietnamese from what was once South Vietnam, in provinces like Quang Nam, Quang Ngai, Binh Dinh, as well as those of the Mekong Delta - rural population centers that were also hotbeds of the revolution -- lived the war week after week, month after month, year after year, from one decade into the next. Burns and Novick seem to have mostly missed these people, missed their stories, and, consequently, missed the dark heart of the conflict.
Read the full article at The Intercept.
I ran into David Petraeus the other night. Or rather, I ran after him.
It's been more than a year since I first tried to connect with the retired four-star general and ex-CIA director -- and no luck yet. On a recent evening, as the sky was turning from a crisp ice blue into a host of Easter-egg hues, I missed him again. Led from a curtained "backstage" area where he had retreated after a midtown Manhattan event, Petraeus moved briskly to a staff-only room, then into a tightly packed elevator, and momentarily out onto the street before being quickly ushered into a waiting late-model, black Mercedes S550.
And then he was gone, whisked into the warm New York night, companions in tow.
For the previous hour, Petraeus had been in conversation with Peter Bergen, a journalist, CNN analyst, and vice president at New America, the think tank sponsoring the event. Looking fit and well-rested in a smart dark-blue suit, the former four-star offered palatable, pat, and -- judging from the approving murmurs of the audience -- popular answers to a host of questions about national security issues ranging from the fight against the Islamic State to domestic gun control. While voicing support for the Second Amendment, for example, he spoke about implementing "common sense solutions to the availability of weapons," specifically keeping guns out of the hands of "domestic abusers" and those on the no-fly list. Even as he expressed "great respect" for those who carried out acts of torture in the wake of 9/11, he denounced its use -- except in the case of a "ticking time bomb." In an era when victory hasn't been a word much used in relation to the American military, he even predicted something close to it on the horizon. "I've said from the very beginning, even in the darkest days, the Islamic State would be defeated in Iraq," he told the appreciative crowd.
I went to the event hoping to ask Petraeus a question or two, but Bergen never called on me during the Q & A portion of the evening. My attendance was not, however, a total loss.
Watching the retired general in action, I was reminded of the peculiarity of this peculiar era -- an age of generals whose careers are made in winless wars; years in which such high-ranking, mission-unaccomplished officers rotate through revolving doors that lead not only to top posts with major weapons merchants, but also too-big-to-fail banks, top universities, cutting-edge tech companies, healthcare firms, and other corporate behemoths. Hardly a soul, it seems, cares that these generals and admirals have had leading roles in quagmire wars or even, in two prominent cases, saw their government service cease as a result of career-ending scandal. And Citizen David Petraeus is undoubtedly the epitome of this phenomenon.
Celebrated as the most cerebral of generals, the West Point grad and Princeton Ph.D. rose to stardom during the Iraq War -- credited with pacifying the restive city of Mosul before becoming one of the architects of the new Iraqi Army. Petraeus would then return to the United States where he revamped and revived the Army's failed counterinsurgency doctrine from the Vietnam War, before being tapped to lead "The Surge" of U.S. forces in Iraq -- an effort to turn around the foundering conflict. Through it all, Petraeus waged one of the most deft self-promotion campaigns in recent memory, cultivating politicians, academics, and especially fawning journalists who reported on his running stamina, his penchant for push-ups, and even -- I kid you not -- how he woke a lieutenant from what was thought to be an irreversible coma by shouting the battle cry of his unit.
A series of biographers would lionize the general who, after achieving what to some looked like success in Iraq, went on to head U.S. Central Command, overseeing the conflicts in both Iraq and Afghanistan. When the military career of his subordinate General Stanley McChrystal imploded, Petraeus was sent once more unto the breach to spearhead an Afghan War surge and win another quagmire war.
And win Petraeus did. Not in Afghanistan, of course. That war grinds on without end. But the Teflon general somehow emerged from it all with people talking about him as a future presidential contender. Looking back at Petraeus's successes, one understands just what a feat this was. Statistics show that Petraeus never actually pacified Mosul, which has now been under the control of the Islamic State (ISIS) for years. The army Petraeus helped build in Iraq crumbled in the face of that same force which, in some cases, was even supported by Sunni fighters Petraeus had put on the U.S. payroll to make The Surge appear successful.
Indeed, Petraeus had come to New America's New York headquarters to answer one question in particular: "What will the next president's national security challenges be?" Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, ISIS, Iraq, Afghanistan: precisely the set of groups he had fought, places he had fought in, or what had resulted from his supposed victories.
Retired Brass, Then and Now
"What can you do with a general, when he stops being a general? Oh, what can you do with a general who retires?"
Irving Berlin first posed these questions in 1948 and Bing Crosby crooned them six years later in White Christmas, the lavish Hollywood musical that has become a holiday season staple.
These are not, however, questions which seem to have plagued David Petraeus. He retired from the Army in 2011 to take a job as director of the CIA, only to resign in disgrace a year later when it was revealed that he had leaked classified information to his biographer and one-time lover Paula Broadwell and then lied about it to the FBI. Thanks to a deal with federal prosecutors, Petraeus pled guilty to just a single misdemeanor and served no jail time, allowing him, as the New York Times reported last year, "to focus on his lucrative post-government career as a partner in a private equity firm and a worldwide speaker on national security issues."
In the Bing and Berlin era, following back-to-back victories in world wars, things were different. Take George C. Marshall, a five-star general and the most important U.S. military leader during World War II who is best remembered today for the post-war European recovery plan that bore his name. Fellow five-star general and later president Dwight Eisenhower recalled that, during the Second World War, Marshall "did not want to sit in Washington and be a chief of staff. I am sure he wanted a field command, but he wouldn't even allow his chief [President Franklin Roosevelt] to know what he wanted, because he said, 'I am here to serve and not to satisfy personal ambition.'" That mindset seemed to remain his guiding directive after he retired in 1945 and went on to serve as a special envoy to China, secretary of state, and secretary of defense.
Marshall reportedly refused a number of lucrative offers to write his memoirs, including the then-princely sum of a million dollars after taxes from Time and Life publisher Henry Luce. He did so on the grounds that it was unethical to profit from service to the United States or to benefit from the sacrifices of the men who had served under him, supposedly telling one publisher "that he had not spent his life serving the government in order to sell his life story to the Saturday Evening Post." In his last years, he finally cooperated with a biographer and gave his archives to the George C. Marshall Research Foundation on "the condition that no monetary returns from a book or books based on his materials would go to him or his family but would be used for the research program of the Marshall Foundation." Even his biographer was asked to "waive the right to any royalties from the biography." Marshall also declined to serve on any corporate boards.
Marshall may have been a paragon of restraint and moral rectitude, but he wasn't alone. As late as the years 1994-1998, according to an analysis by the Boston Globe, fewer than 50% of retiring three- and four-star officers went to work as consultants or defense executives. By 2004-2008, that number had jumped to 80%. An analysis by the Washington D.C.-based nonprofit group, Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, found that it was still at a lofty 70% for the years 2009-2011.
Celebrity generals like Petraeus and fellow former four-star generals Stanley McChrystal (whose military career was also consumed in the flames of scandal) and Ray Odierno (who retired amid controversy), as well as retired admiral and former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Mike Mullen, don't even need to enter the world of arms dealers and defense firms. These days, those jobs may increasingly be left to second-tier military luminaries like Marine Corps general James Cartwright, the former vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, now on the board of directors at Raytheon, as well as former Vice Admiral and Director of Naval Intelligence Jack Dorsett, who joined Northrop Grumman.
If, however, you are one of the military's top stars, the sky is increasingly the limit. You can, for instance, lead a consulting firm (McChrystal and Mullen) or advise or even join the boards of banks and civilian corporations like JPMorgan Chase (Odierno), Jet Blue (McChrystal), and General Motors (Mullen).
For his part, after putting his extramarital affair behind him, Petraeus became a partner at the private equity firm Kohlberg, Kravis, Roberts & Co. L.P. (KKR), where he also serves as the chairman of the KKR Global Institute and, according to his bio, "oversees the institute's thought leadership platform focused on geopolitical and macro-economic trends, as well as environmental, social, and governance issues." His lieutenants include a former chairman of the Republican National Committee and campaign manager for President George W. Bush, as well as a former leading light at Morgan Stanley.
KKR's portfolio boasts a bit of everything, from Alliant Insurance Services and Panasonic Healthcare to a host of Chinese firms (Rundong Automobile Group and Asia Dairy, among them). There are also defense firms under its umbrella, including TASC, the self-proclaimed "premier provider of advanced systems engineering and integration services across the Intelligence Community, Department of Defense, and civilian agencies of the federal government," and Airbus Group's defense electronics business which KKR recently bought for $1.2 billion.
KKR is, however, just where Petraeus's post-military, post-CIA resume begins.
A Man for Four Seasons
"Nobody thinks of assigning him, when they stop wining and dining him," wrote Irving Berlin 68 years ago.
How times do change. When it comes to Petraeus, the wining and dining is evidently unending -- as when Financial Times columnist Edward Luce took him to the Four Seasons Restaurant earlier this year for a lunch of tuna tartare, poached salmon, and a bowl of mixed berries with cream.
At the elegant eatery, just a short walk from Petraeus's Manhattan office, the former CIA chief left Luce momentarily forlorn. "When I inquire what keeps him busy nowadays his answer goes on for so long I half regret asking," he wrote.
I evidently heard a version of the same well prepared lines when, parrying a question from journalist Fred Kaplan at the New America event I attended, Petraeus produced a wall of words explaining how busy he is. In the process, he shed light on just what it means to be a retired celebrity general from America's winless wars. "I've got a day job with KKR. I teach once a week at the City University of New York -- Honors College. I do a week per semester at USC [University of Southern California]. I do several days at Harvard. I'm on the speaking circuit. I do pro bono stuff like this. I'm the co-chairman of the Wilson Institute's Global Advisory Council, the senior vice president of RUSI [Royal United Services Institute, a research institution focused on military issues]. I'm on three other think tank boards," he said.
In an era when fellow leakers of government secrets -- from National Security Agency (NSA) whistleblower Edward Snowden to CIA whistleblower John Kiriakou to Army whistleblower Chelsea Manning -- have ended up in exile or prison, Petraeus's post-leak life has obviously been quite another matter.
The experience of former NSA senior executive Thomas Drake who shared unclassified information about that agency's wasteful ways with a reporter is more typical of what leakers should expect. Although the Justice Department eventually dropped the most serious charges against him -- he pled guilty to a single misdemeanor -- he lost his job and his pension, went bankrupt, and has spent years working at an Apple store after being prosecuted under the World War I-era Espionage Act. "My social contacts are gone, and I'm persona non grata," he told Defense One last year. "I can't find any work in government contracting or in the quasi-government space, those who defend whistleblowers won't touch me."
Petraeus, on the other hand, shared with his lover and biographer eight highly classified "black books" that the government says included "the identities of covert officers, war strategy, intelligence capabilities and mechanisms, diplomatic discussions, quotes and deliberative discussions from high-level National Security Council meetings, and defendant David Howell Petraeus's discussions with the President of the United States of America." Petraeus was prosecuted, pled guilty, and was sentenced to two years of probation and fined $100,000.
Yet it's Petraeus who today moves in rarified circles and through hallowed halls, with memberships and posts at one influential institution after another. In addition to the positions he mentioned at New America, his CV includes: honorary visiting professor at Exeter University, co-chairman of the Task Force on North America at the Council on Foreign Relations, co-chairman of the Global Advisory Committee at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, member of the Concordia Summit's Concordia Leadership Council, member of the board of trustees at the McCain Institute for International Leadership, member of the National Security Advisory Council of the U.S. Global Leadership Coalition, and a seat on the board of directors at the Atlantic Council.
Brand Petraeus
About a year ago, I tried to contact Petraeus through KKR as well as the Macaulay Honors College at the City University of New York, to get a comment on a story. I never received a reply.
I figured he was ducking me -- or anyone asking potentially difficult questions -- or that his gatekeepers didn't think I was important enough to respond to. But perhaps he was simply too busy. To be honest, I didn't realize just how crowded his schedule was. (Of course, FT's Edward Luce reports that when he sent Petraeus an email invite, the retired general accepted within minutes, so maybe it's because I wasn't then holding out the prospect of a meal at the Four Seasons.)
I attended the New America event because I had yet more questions for Petraeus. But I wasn't as fortunate as Fred Kaplan -- author, by the way, of The Insurgents: David Petraeus and the Plot to Change the American Way of War -- and wasn't quite speedy or nimble enough to catch the former general before he slipped into the backseat of that luxurious Mercedes sedan.
Irving Berlin's "What Can You Do With A General?" ends on a somber note that sounds better in Crosby's dulcimer tones than it reads on the page: "It seems this country never has enjoyed, so many one and two and three and four-star generals, unemployed."
Today, a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff retiring after 38 years receives a pension of about $20,000 a month, not exactly a shabby unemployment check for the rest of your life, but one that many in the tight-knit fraternity of top officers are still eager to supplement. Take General Cartwright, who joined Raytheon in 2012 and, according to Morningstar, the investment research firm, receives close to $364,000 per year in compensation from that company while holding more than $1.2 million in its stock.
All of this left me with yet more questions for Petraeus (whose pension is reportedly worth more than $18,000 per month or $220,000 per year) about a mindset that seems light years distant from the one Marshall espoused during his retirement. I was curious, for instance, about his take on why the winning of wars isn't a prerequisite for cashing in on one's leadership in them, and why the personal and professional costs of scandal are so incredibly selective.
Today, it seems, a robust Rolodex with the right global roster, a marquee name, and a cultivated geopolitical brand covers a multitude of sins. And that's precisely the type of firepower that Petraeus brings to the table.
After a year without a reply, I got in touch with KKR again. This time, through an intermediary, Petraeus provided me an answer to a new request for an interview. "Thank you for your interest, Nick, but he respectfully declines at this time," I was told.
I'm hoping, however, that the retired general changes his mind. For the privilege of asking Petraeus various questions, I'd be more than happy to take him to lunch at the Four Seasons.
With that tony power-lunch spot closing down soon as part of a plan to relocate elsewhere, we'd need to act fast. Getting a table could be tough.
Luckily, I know just the name to drop.
Every now and then, I teach a class to young would-be journalists and one of the first things I talk about is why I consider writing an act of generosity. As they are usually just beginning to stretch their writerly wings, their task, as I see it, is to enter the world we're already in (it's generally the only place they can afford to go) and somehow decode it for us, make us see it in a new way. And who can deny that doing so is indeed an act of generosity? But for the foreign correspondent, especially in war zones, the generosity lies in the very act of entering a world filled with dangers, a world that the rest of us might not be capable of entering, or for that matter brave enough to enter, and somehow bringing us along with them.
I thought about this recently when I had in my hands the first copy of Nick Turse's new Dispatch Book, Next Time They'll Come to Count the Dead: War and Survival in South Sudan, and flipped it open to its memorable initial paragraph, one I already new well, and began to read it all over again:
"Their voices, sharp and angry, shook me from my slumber. I didn't know the language but I instantly knew the translation. So I groped for the opening in the mosquito net, shuffled from my downy white bed to the window, threw back the stained tan curtain, and squinted into the light of a new day breaking in South Sudan. Below, in front of my guest house, one man was getting his ass kicked by another. A flurry of blows connected with his face and suddenly he was on the ground. Three or four men were watching."
Nick, TomDispatch's managing editor and a superb historian as well as reporter, spent years in a war-crimes zone of the past to produce his award-winning book, Kill Anything That Moves: The Real American War in Vietnam. It was a harrowing historical journey for which he traveled to small villages on the back roads of Vietnam to talk to those who had experienced horrific crimes decades earlier. In 2015, however, on his second trip to South Sudan, a country the U.S. helped bring into existence, he found himself in an almost unimaginable place where the same kinds of war crimes were being committed right then and there in a commonplace way, where violence was the coin of the realm, and horrors of various sorts were almost guaranteed to be around the next corner. In his new book, he brings us with him into such a world in a way that is deeply memorable.
Ann Jones, author of They Were Soldiers, calls him "the wandering scribe of war crimes." And she adds, "Reading Turse will turn your view of war upside down... There's no glory here in Turse's pages, but the clear voices of people caught up in this fruitless cruelty, speaking for themselves."
Next Time They'll Come to Count the Dead is, I think, the definition of an act of generosity. Nick has just returned from his latest trip to South Sudan and his latest piece, "Donald Trump in South Sudan," gives you a sense of the ongoing brutalities and incongruities of life there (and here as well).
PIBOR, South Sudan -- "I've never been a soldier," I say to the wide-eyed, lanky-limbed veteran sitting across from me. "Tell me about military life. What's it like?" He looks up as if the answer can be found in the blazing blue sky above, shoots me a sheepish grin, and then fixes his gaze on his feet. I let the silence wash over us and wait. He looks embarrassed. Perhaps it's for me.
Interviews sometimes devolve into such awkward, hushed moments. I've talked to hundreds of veterans over the years. Many have been reluctant to discuss their tours of duty for one reason or another. It's typical. But this wasn't the typical veteran -- at least not for me.
Osman put in three years of military service, some of it during wartime. He saw battle and knows the dull drudgery of a soldier's life. He had left the army just a month before I met him.
Osman is 15 years old.
Young people the world over join militaries for all sorts of reasons -- for a steady paycheck, to be a part of something greater than themselves, to measure up, to escape their homes, because they crave structure or excitement or adventure, because they have no better options, because they're forced to. Osman joined a militia called the Cobra faction, he told me, after soldiers from the Sudan People's Liberation Army, or SPLA -- the national armed forces of South Sudan -- shot and killed his father. It seemed to be the only option open to him. It afforded him protection, care, a home.
Osman was released from his military service in February and he wasn't alone. In recent months, more than 1,700 children have been demobilized by the Cobra faction. But they're the exceptions in South Sudan. Today, about 13,000 other children are serving with the SPLA or the Sudan People's Liberation Army-In Opposition, a rebel force at war with the government, or with other militias and armed groups jockeying for power in that civil-war-wracked country.
Despite a law prohibiting it, the United States looked the other way while this went on, providing aid and assistance to the SPLA even as it employed child soldiers. Year after year, President Obama provided waivers to sidestep the 2008 Child Soldiers Prevention Act, by which Congress prohibited the U.S. from providing military assistance to governments filling out their ranks with children. It was just one facet of years of support, dating back to the 1980s, that saw the U.S. "midwife" -- as then-chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee John Kerry put it -- South Sudan into existence.
"For nearly a decade leading up to the 2011 declaration of independence, the cause of the nation and its citizens was one that was near and dear to the heart of two successive U.S. administrations and some of its most seasoned and effective thinkers and policymakers," Patricia Taft, a senior associate with the Fund for Peace, wrote in an analysis of South Sudan last year. "In order to secure this nation-building 'win,' both the George W. Bush and Obama administrations poured tons of aid into South Sudan, in every form imaginable. From military aid to food aid to the provision of technical expertise, America was South Sudan's biggest ally and backer, ardently midwifing the country into nationhood by whatever means necessary."
In the case of child soldiers, waivers were seen as a necessity when it came to helping build "an accountable and professional armed force," in the words of Andy Burnett of the Office of the Special Envoy to Sudan and South Sudan; that is, an ethical, modern military that would ultimately eschew the use of children. The results were just the opposite. The SPLA fractured in December 2013 and was soon implicated in the commission of mass atrocities and increased recruitment of child soldiers. The war that has wracked the country since has been especially ruinous for South Sudan's youth. According to the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF), around 600,000 children have been affected by psychological distress, 400,000 have been forced out of school, 235,000 are at risk of severe acute malnutrition, and more than 700 have been killed during a year and a half of civil war.
Cobra Commander
I meet Osman and a dozen other former child soldiers in an out-of-the-way town about 170 miles from South Sudan's capital, Juba. The temperature seems harsher in Pibor, the air drier and dustier. The days leave you feeling sapped and shriveled. The sun forces your eyes into a perpetual squint and the wind blows hot -- unnaturally hot, blast-furnace hot.
The ground in Pibor is parched to the point of cracking. The gray moonscape has shattered into a spider's web of crevices, fissures, and clefts tailor-made for wrenching knees and toppling chairs when you shift your weight. Then there are the flies. Swarms of flies. Everywhere. I've experienced flies before, flies you can't keep off your food, so many that you cease swatting and call a truce; so many that you agree to share your plate and your fork with them, so much sharing that they might become part of your meal if they fail to flit away fast enough. But the flies in Pibor are another matter: relentless, maddening, merciless, eternally landing on your sweaty hands and arms and cheeks and nose, on the goat meat being butchered nearby, on your water bottle. Swat one and four more seem to arrive in response -- until about 7:30 pm when, as if by magic, they simply disappear.
Osman, a local kid, doesn't seem bothered by the flies or the heat. Maybe that's because this life beats the one he was living when he carried an assault rifle and served as a bodyguard for a high-ranking officer. It was a typical job for a child soldier in the Cobra faction, a rebel militia that was -- until last year -- at war with the government here. Korok, a baby-faced 16-year-old from Pibor, tells me he did the same thing during his two years of service. "They gave me a gun," he says as his large, lively eyes dart about. "I followed big men around."
After his father was shot and killed and his mother died of malaria, Korok found himself alone. His brother was off serving in the SPLA when soldiers from that force rampaged through the area around Pibor, punishing the local population -- men, women, and children of the Murle tribe -- for an uprising by native son and recurrent rebel David Yau Yau.
A former theology student, Yau Yau once served as the Pibor county secretary of the South Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation Commission, a federal agency devoted to the reintegration and resettlement of refugees and internally displaced persons. He has, however, spent the last five years forging a career out of anti-government uprisings. A young upstart from the Murle minority, Yau Yau bucked local elders and ran as an independent for parliament in April 2010. After losing -- he was reportedly trounced -- Yau Yau pursued another path to power, this time through an armed rebellion with 200 fighters under his command. Just over a year later, after some skirmishes with government forces and minor acts of banditry, he accepted an offer of amnesty and was reportedly made a general in the SPLA.
In March 2012, the SPLA launched a "disarmament campaign" in Murle areas around Pibor marked, locals say, by rampant atrocities, including rapes and assaults. Soon, Yau Yau was again in revolt, attracting boys like Korok and Osman to his South Sudan Democratic Movement/Army also known as the SSDM/A-Cobra faction. With thousands flocking to his cause and armed with heavier weapons, Yau Yau launched his first major attack, an ambush that reportedly killed more than 100 SPLA soldiers in August 2012, according to the Small Arms Survey, a Geneva-based independent research group. Battles between the Cobra faction and the SPLA raged through 2013 and civilians around Pibor continued to suffer.
SPLA court martial documents obtained by TomDispatch attest to the violence in the area. On July 31, 2013, for example, Sergeant Ngor Mayik Magol and Private Bona Atem Akot shot and killed two Murle women and injured a child in Pibor County. (Tried and convicted, they were ordered to pay "blood compensation" of 45 cows for each woman, sentenced to five years in prison, and fined 2,000 South Sudanese pounds each.) In fact, according to Human Rights Watch, 74 Murle civilians, 17 of them women and children, were killed between December 2012 and July 2013.
In May 2014, several months after a full-fledged civil war erupted with rebel forces under the leadership of former Vice President Riek Machar, South Sudan's president Salva Kiir and Yau Yau agreed to a peace pact. Later, the former rebel leader pledged to demobilize children from his forces.
In January, the Cobra faction began releasing youths, ages 9 to 17, some of whom had been fighting for up to four years. In that first demobilization ceremony, overseen by the South Sudan National Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration Commission with support from UNICEF, 280 youngsters turned in their weapons and uniforms. Since then, almost 1,500 others have been released. "These children have been forced to do and see things no child should ever experience," said UNICEF South Sudan Representative Jonathan Veitch. "The release of thousands of children requires a massive response to provide the support and protection these children need to begin rebuilding their lives."
Zuagin tells me he's 15, but he looks a couple years younger. His legs seem to be hiding somewhere inside his pants and his shirt is a size too big. Hailing from the nearby town of Gumuruk, he had served with the Cobra faction for about two years before being demobilized in February. Like the other boys, he now spends his days at "the ICC" or Interim Care Center in Pibor, a compound dominated by a mud-walled church with a crude likeness of Christ drawn on an exterior wall.
"UNICEF builds and runs the centers with our partners -- they are providing temporary care and shelter to the children released while we trace their families," UNICEF's Claire McKeever explained to me. "We have also trained local teams of social workers, cooks, and guards who work at the centers. The children are provided with food, shelter, items like mosquito nets, mats, and soap, psychosocial support and recreation activities. This is a two-year program in Pibor, but the hope is that these centers can become youth centers once the last children return home."
The child veterans at the ICC are like kids anywhere. Some are curious but apprehensive, others wary and insecure; a few of the older ones act tougher and cooler than they are. They find themselves on either side of that ethereal adolescent dividing line -- some with the softer, rounder faces of little boys, others beginning to sport the more angular features of young men; some with tiny, falsetto voices, others speaking in tenor tones. As a group, they are, however, united by body type: uniformly skinny, swimming in their button-down shirts or soccer jerseys. Quite a few sport generic t-shirts emblazoned with the name "Obama." Many have energy to burn and a hunger for something more. More than a few seem to delight in tormenting one of their caretakers, a man who wields a long thin branch that he brandishes in an attempt to keep the boys in line. He threatens them with it, swinging it at them, though without much chance of actually hitting the speedy, young veterans. They, in turn, mock him and when he sets his switch down, they steal it from him. He tells me that he likes the boys, that they are good kids. He also asks if I could help him get any other kind of job, anything at all.
Zuagin was yet another Cobra faction bodyguard who spent his tour of duty toting a gun to protect an older man with a high rank. "He treated me well, with respect," he says, but assures me that life is now much better than it was with the militia. He has big plans for the future. "I want to go to school," he explains. "I want to be a doctor. We need sanitation. If I'm a doctor, I can help the community."
Zuagin has a ready solution to South Sudan's bloodshed and the seemingly interminable civil war that goes with it. "To stop the violence, we need disarmament. All the guns need to be collected. After that, all the youths should go to school." I listen and nod, thinking about how a disarmament campaign led directly to violence here in Pibor, the violence that Osman tells me cost his father his life, the violence that forced so many of Zuagin's fellow child soldiers into the arms of the Cobra faction in the first place. I decide not to mention it.
Osman has his own simple solution: full employment. "To have peace, they should give a job to everybody," he says in a soft, raspy voice. "If they gave work to everybody, everybody would be busy and there would be no time for fighting."
Like the rest of the boys, Peter looks younger than the age he gives, which is 16. And like many of the others, it was abuse by the SPLA that, two years earlier, led him to flee his home and join the Cobra faction. "They were beating people. They even stole my clothes," he tells me as we sit in the minimal shade of a tree near the church in the ICC compound. Life with the militia was tough: cooking, chores, bodyguard duties, combat. Now, the bright-eyed youth says that he has free time and his life is so much better. He was looking forward to school, too, but didn't have the requisite 20 South Sudanese pounds needed for tuition. It's the same story for Osman who longs for school, but says he lacks the funds to attend.
"Getting all children in Pibor back to school is a priority and services are slowly being reestablished after many years of under investment," UNICEF's McKeever told me by email. "There are currently close to 3,000 children enrolled in Pibor [and nearby] Gumuruk and Lekuangule and one in three of the demobilized children from Pibor are in accelerated learning programs."
Veterans Day?
The Interim Care Center is a spartan facility by Western standards and creature comforts are few, but these young Cobra faction veterans have it better than many of their peers who find themselves hungry, malnourished, displaced, homeless, and hopeless. "Life is very good here," Osman told me. The freedom to come and go as he pleases and wear civilian clothes looms large for him. "Plus, I'm eating for free," he adds. When I ask if he ever wants to be a soldier again, he shoots me a disgusted look, before cracking a big smile and laughing aloud. "No. I don't like it at all. The worst part was fighting."
Zujian, who speaks some English, agrees. In a tiny voice that has yet to crack, let alone deepen, he swears that life now is so much better than when he carried a weapon and that he's absolutely done with soldiering forever. All the boys I talk to tell me the same -- though it's no guarantee that some of them won't end up back under arms in the years to come. Above all, however, every one of them wants something more. All are looking for some way out.
Peter bluntly requests that I take a couple of the boys back to the United States so they can tell their stories in person. He strongly hints that he would like to be one of them. In the meantime, he says, he will "pray for peace." Korok, it turns out, is praying too -- for peace and better leadership for the country. "Is there a possibility," he asks, "for the American people to set up schools, so the children could go to class instead of becoming soldiers?"
"South Sudan needs development. It needs hospitals, not fighting," Zujian tells me with a thoughtful smile. True enough, but I wonder if there is any chance of it. Recent, full-scale military offensives are wreaking havoc, killing and injuring civilians, and accountability is nearly nil. The government derives more than 90% of its revenue not from citizens to whom it must provide services and transparency, but from foreign oil firms. It is now also indebted to the Qatar National Bank, to whom the future of the nation has been mortgaged. Its military has been consistently implicated in mass atrocities, as has the rebel force opposing it. Both continue to employ child soldiers. The country sits atop the Fund for Peace's 178-nation list of the world's most fragile nations, ranks exceptionally high in terms of poverty and corruption, and low when it comes to education, infrastructure, press freedom, and human rights. It's one of the worst places on earth to be a mother or a child. Its economy is in shambles and nearly five million people are expected to face severe food shortages in the months ahead. And given the fact that southern Sudan has, for the better part of 60 years, been embroiled in war -- a series of conflicts that have upended, wrecked, or taken the lives of millions, sown bad blood, and stoked the fires of vengeance -- the future looks grim.
At the end of our interview, Zujian stares into my eyes, squinting as if looking for something, and then begins interviewing me. What am I up to, he wants to know. Why have I traveled all this way to the ICC to talk to the other boys and him?
I try to explain how my country helped facilitate the recruitment of child soldiers in his, despite international condemnation of the practice and the fact one of our laws forbids it, as does South Sudanese law. I say that people in America know little or nothing about the global scourge of child soldiers. It's important, I add, that they hear what boys like him have to say.
I had come, I explain, to hear his story and I will do my best to tell it. I can feel Zujian's disappointment. Like a number of the children, he clearly hoped for more from me -- maybe even tangible assistance of some sort. He manages to look skeptical and remain silent until we reach the outer edge of awkward. Then, suddenly, he breaks into a wide grin and gracefully lets me off the hook.
Clearly, U.S. assistance and nation-building efforts in South Sudan have had anything but the desired effects either for Washington or South Sudan. No less clearly, President Obama's gamble that looking the other way when it came to child soldiers would, in the long run, facilitate the end of their use imploded in 2013 with devastating results. Despite this, Zujian refuses to sour on the United States or at least its citizens. Somehow, in spite of all the disappointments, including me, he continues to have faith.
"I'm happy to have talked with you," he says with a nod, still smiling as we sit in the fading afternoon sun at this parched, uncertain way station, a literal no man's land located somewhere between war and peace, youth and adulthood. "If the American people read about us, maybe it will lead to something good."
MALAKAL, South Sudan -- I didn't really think he was going to shoot me. There was no anger in his eyes. His finger may not have been anywhere near the trigger. He didn't draw a bead on me. Still, he was a boy and he was holding an AK-47 and it was pointed in my direction.
It was unnerving.
I don't know how old he was. I'd say 16, though maybe he was 18 or 19. But there were a few soldiers nearby who looked even younger -- no more than 15.
MALAKAL, South Sudan -- I didn't really think he was going to shoot me. There was no anger in his eyes. His finger may not have been anywhere near the trigger. He didn't draw a bead on me. Still, he was a boy and he was holding an AK-47 and it was pointed in my direction.
It was unnerving.
I don't know how old he was. I'd say 16, though maybe he was 18 or 19. But there were a few soldiers nearby who looked even younger -- no more than 15.
When I was their age, I wasn't trusted to drive, vote, drink, get married, gamble in a casino, serve on a jury, rent a car, or buy a ticket to an R-rated movie. It was mandatory for me to be in school. The law decreed just how many hours I could work and prohibited my employment in jobs deemed too dangerous for kids -- like operating mixing machines in bakeries or repairing elevators. No one, I can say with some certainty, would have thought it a good idea to put an automatic weapon in my hands. But someone thought it was acceptable for them. A lot of someones actually. Their government -- the government of South Sudan -- apparently thought so. And so did mine, the government of the United States.
Photo Bomb
There was a reason that boy pointed his weapon my way. A lot of them, in fact. In the most immediate sense, I brought it upon myself. I was doing something I knew could get me in trouble, but I just couldn't help myself.
I tried to take a picture. Okay, I took a picture. More than one.
Public photography is frequently frowned upon in South Sudan. Take pictures of the wrong thing and the authorities might force you to delete the images, or confiscate your camera, or maybe worse.
The incident in question took place during last year's rainy season on the outskirts of sodden Malakal, a war-ravaged town 320 miles north of the capital, Juba. The airport, near the banks of the White Nile, had devolved into an airstrip. Nobody seemed to use its vintage blue and white terminal building anymore. Instead, you drove past cold-eyed Rwandan peacekeepers, United Nations troop trucks, and an armored personnel carrier or two, right up to the tarmac.
That's where I was when a fairly big, nondescript white plane arrived. That in itself was hardly remarkable. It's de rigueur for Malakal. If it isn't a World Food Program flight, then it's a big-bellied plane hauling in supplies for some non-governmental organization or a United Nations plane like the one that brought me there and that I was waiting for to whisk me away.
This nondescript white plane, however, was different from the others. When the Canadair CRJ-100, with "Cemair" written across its tail, taxied up and its door opened, it wasn't your typical array of airline passengers who sallied down the gangway. At least not at first. It was a large group of young men in camouflage uniforms carrying assault rifles and machine guns. And they were met on the runway by scores of similarly attired, similarly armed young men who had arrived in a convoy just minutes earlier.
I'd never seen anything like it, so I pulled out my phone and tried to surreptitiously take a few photos. Not surreptitiously enough, though. A commander spotted me, got angry, and headed my way, waving his finger "no." It was then that this boy with the AK-47, who had arrived in the convoy, turned toward me -- following the officer's gaze -- and the rifle in his arms turned with him, and I stepped lively to put the commander between me and him, while quickly shoving my phone in my pocket and apologizing again and again.
Click here to see a larger version
Malakal airfield, July 2014.
Approximately 13,000 children have been recruited into armed groups in South Sudan, according to the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF). In addition, about 400,000 youngsters have been forced out of school due to the civil war that has been flaring and simmering there for almost a year and a half. How so many children came to be affected by the conflict and why so many of them find themselves serving in the national army, the main rebel force, and other militias needs to be explained. It has much to do with civil wars that started in the 1950s and lasted for the better part of five decades, pitting rebels in the south against the government in the north of what was then a single country: Sudan.
Other factors include the 2005 peace deal that led to an independent South Sudan and transformed a guerrilla force into a national military, the Sudan People's Liberation Army or SPLA; a rural culture in which cows are king because they are currency and young boys are armed to defend against cattle raids, as well as to conduct them; and an armed grudge match between political rivals representing different tribal groups in South Sudan that began in December 2013. Add all of this together and any tangible recent progress toward ridding South Sudan of the scourge of child soldiers has been obliterated.
Oh yes, and into that mix you would also have to factor the United States, a country that, as then U.S. Senator, now Secretary of State John Kerry put it, helped "midwife" South Sudan into existence.
America's African Army
In 1996, the United States began funneling military equipment through nearby Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Uganda to rebels in southern Sudan as they battled for independence. A decade later, after the civil war ended in a peace deal, Washington officially began offering military "assistance" to the SPLA, according to State Department documents. At that point, without fanfare and far from the prying eyes of the press, the U.S. launched a concerted campaign to transform the SPLA from a guerrilla force into a professional army.
When I recently asked about the scope of this training, Rodney Ford, the State Department's Bureau of African Affairs spokesperson, told me: "The U.S. government began a comprehensive defense professionalization program which started in [fiscal year] 2006 [and] continued after the referendum and independence of South Sudan until December 2013. This assistance included infrastructure, vehicles, human rights training, logistics, administration, medical, military justice, finance, and English language training among an array of other military subjects. The U.S. government, for example, conducted a comprehensive medical program with the South Sudanese military which entailed procuring mobile field hospitals, building clinics, training nurses and improving the military's medical infrastructure."
Ford also emphasizedthat no "lethal equipment" was provided and noted that the lessons were designed to "give soldiers the tools and skills that would benefit the civilian population." It sounded almost like they were building a South Sudanese Peace Corps.
In reality, there was more to it. U.S. support was not strictly a kumbaya effort of medical clinics and human rights instruction. It included the training and equipping of the elite presidential guard; the construction of a new SPLA headquarters in Juba; the renovation of a training center at the SPLA Command and Staff College in Malou, a town north of the capital; and the construction of the headquarters of two SPLA divisions in the towns of Mapel and Duar. Included as well were training programs for general officers and senior instructors; the deployment of a "training advisory team" to guide the overhaul of intelligence, communications, and other key functions; the employment of Kenyan and later Ethiopian instructors to teach basic military skills to SPLA recruits; the provision of secure voice and data communications to SPLA general headquarters; the development of riverine forces and up to 16 tactical watercraft; military police instruction; the training of commando forces by Ethiopian troops; and the establishment of a noncommissioned officers academy at Mapel with training from private contractors and later U.S. military personnel. And according to a comprehensive report focusing on the years 2006-2010 by Richard Rands for the Small Arms Survey at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies in Geneva, this list only encompasses part of Washington's efforts.
During the early 2000s, as thousands of refugee "Lost Boys" who had fled the civil war in southern Sudan began to be resettled in cities across the United States, their brothers and sisters back home continued to suffer as civilians or as child combatants. Between 2001 and 2006, however, as international pressure mounted and the civil war waned, some 20,000 child soldiers were also reportedly demobilized by the SPLA, although thousands remained in the force for a variety of reasons, including an extreme lack of other opportunities.
By 2010, when the SPLA pledged to demobilize all of its child soldiers by the end of the year, there were an estimated 900 children still serving in the force. The next year, under terms of the agreement that ended the civil war, the people of southern Sudan voted for their independence. Six months later, on July 9th, South Sudan became the world's newest nation, prompting a strong statement of support from President Barack Obama: "I am confident that the bonds of friendship between South Sudan and the United States will only deepen in the years to come. As Southern Sudanese undertake the hard work of building their new country, the United States pledges our partnership as they seek the security, development, and responsive governance that can fulfill their aspirations and respect their human rights."
While child soldiers, in fact, remained in the SPLA, the U.S. nonetheless engaged in a years-long effort to pour billions of dollars in humanitarian aid, as well as hundreds of millions of dollars of military and security assistance, into South Sudan. Here's the catch in all this: the Child Soldiers Prevention Act (CSPA), passed by Congress in 2008 and enacted in 2010, prohibits the United States from providing military assistance to governments using child soldiers. This means that the Obama administration should have been barred from providing South Sudan with military assistance in 2011. The government, however, relied on a technicality to gain an exemption -- claiming the list of barred countries was created before the new nation formally came into existence.
Washington's support for the SPLA continued even as militia groups with children under arms were folded into the force. The U.S. flung open the doors of advanced U.S. military schools, training centers, colleges, and universities to SPLA personnel. In 2010 and 2011, for example, U.S. taxpayers footed the bill for some of them to attend U.S. military armor, artillery, intelligence, and infantry schools; in 2012 and 2013, it was the National Defense University, the U.S. Army's Command and General Staff College, the Marine Corps Combat Service Support School, and the Naval Post Graduate School in Monterey, California, among other institutions.
According to the State Department's 2013 Congressional Budget Justification, tens of millions of dollars were also earmarked for "refurbishment, operations, and maintenance of training centers and divisional headquarters; strategic and operational advisory assistance; unit and individual professional training; and communications and other non-lethal equipment for the military." All of it, according to official State Department documents, was designed to promote "a military that is professionally trained and led, ethically balanced, aware of moral imperatives, and able to contribute positively to national and South-South reconciliation."
At the same time it was attempting to transform the SPLA into a national army, the U.S. military began operating from an outpost in South Sudan's hinterlands. At a Combined Operations Fusion Center in Nzara, a small contingent of U.S. Special Operations forces worked with South Sudanese military intelligence as part of Observant Compass, an operation focused on degrading or destroying Joseph Kony's murderous Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). Planes and helicopters, flown by private contractors, ferried U.S. troops in and out of the small camp. It was also used by special ops personnel for training SPLA forces in everything from navigation skills to airmobile helicopter assaults and as a staging area for joint raids against the LRA in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Until just weeks before the civil war broke out in South Sudan in 2013, U.S. special operators were conducting military assault drills at Nzara.
As the United States was pouring money and effort into building up the country's armed forces, human rights groups repeatedly complained about its military's use of children. This isn't to say that the Obama administration turned a blind eye to the practice. It was, in fact, much worse than that.
On September 28, 2012, for example, Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs Johnnie Carson issued a strong statement against the use of children as combatants. "Protecting and assisting children affected by armed conflict and preventing abuses against them is a priority for the United States," he announced. "We remain committed to ending the unlawful recruitment and use of child soldiers, including in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC)." Carson went on to note that, adhering to provisions of the Child Soldiers Prevention Act, the U.S. would indeed withhold certain security assistance to the DRC (though not all of it).
That same day, President Obama issued a statement of his own, waiving the application of the Child Soldiers Prevention Act with respect to several nations (as the act indeed allows a president to do). South Sudan was included on the grounds that such a decision was in "the national interest of the United States." It was not, as it happens, in the interest of the children of South Sudan, not at least according to a senior United Nations official who was not authorized to speak on the record. The U.S. waiver "was doing more harm than good because there is absolutely no political will to solve the child soldier problem," that official explained to me.
In September 2013, Obama issued still another CSPA waiver -- in the form of a memorandum to Secretary of State Kerry -- keeping South Sudan eligible for U.S. military assistance and the licenses needed to buy military equipment, again citing national interest.
By the end of the year, South Sudan had collapsed into civil war with many SPLA soldiers, especially those of the Dinka tribe, remaining loyal to President Salva Kiir's government and others, predominantly of Nuer ethnicity, joining former Vice President Riek Machar's rebel forces. Members of the SPLA were almost immediately implicated in mass atrocities, including the killing of Nuer civilians. That presidential guard, trained and equipped by the U.S. a few years earlier, was especially singled out for its brutal crimes.
Machar's opposition forces, including many Nuers formerly with the SPLA, carried out their own atrocities, including large-scale massacres of Dinka civilians and others. The State Department soon issued a report, indignant over the fact that "since the outbreak of conflict on December 15, [2013] there have been reports of forced conscription by government forces and recruitment and use of child soldiers by both government and antigovernment forces" -- precisely the behavior the president had told the secretary of state was in the American national interest just a few months earlier.
The Kids Aren't All Right
"We worked closely with the SPLA to make sure the elimination of child soldiers or children associated with the military was a high priority," a State Department official explained to me in a recent email. "Right before the outbreak of the most recent conflict the U.N. had stated that there were no more 'child soldiers' in the South Sudanese military though some still remained on SPLA barracks cooking and cleaning, etc."
That's not quite how the United Nations actually put it.
Before the civil war erupted, "the United Nations verified the recruitment and use of 162 children, all boys and mostly between 14 and 17 years of age," 99 of whom were with the SPLA, 35 with a militia allied to a commander named David Yau Yau, 25 associated with the Lou Nuer tribe, and three with South Sudan's national police. "Children associated with SPLA were identified in military barracks, wearing SPLA uniforms as well as undergoing military training in conflict areas," according to the Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General for Children and Armed Conflict. "In addition, reports of the recruitment and use of 133 children were pending verification at the time of reporting."
Since December 2013, the situation has become far worse. "We have been deeply disappointed to see the progress South Sudan had achieved toward ending the unlawful recruitment and use of child soldiers since independence so gravely set back by the conflict that erupted in December," U.S. National Security Council spokesman Ned Price told me last year. "Both government-aligned and rebel forces have recruited and used child soldiers in the current conflict, and we call on both sides to end this practice."
By May 2014, UNICEF estimated that 9,000 children had been recruited into the armed forces of both sides in the civil war, despite the fact that under "both international and South Sudanese law, the forcible or voluntary recruitment of persons under the age of 18, whether as a member of a regular army or of an informal militia, is prohibited." Today, that number is estimated to have grown to 13,000.
About a year ago, Machar's SPLA-In Opposition (SPLA-IO) pledged to end the recruitment of child soldiers. In late June, according to the U.N., Kiir's government agreed to "restart the implementation of the Action Plan signed in 2012 to end and prevent the recruitment and use of children by the Sudan People's Liberation Army."
There's little evidence, however, that this has translated into tangible effects on the ground on either side. "Despite renewed promises by both government and opposition forces that they will stop using child soldiers, both sides continue to recruit and use children in combat," said Daniel Bekele, Africa director at Human Rights Watch (HRW), earlier this year. "In Malakal, government forces are even taking children from right outside the United Nations compound."
A well-placed source within the United Nations offered a similar assessment. "Even though the SPLA re-committed in June of last year, they haven't released many kids -- only a handful," he explained. "The SPLA aren't releasing their kids and there doesn't seem to be any incentive to do so."
Skye Wheeler, an expert on South Sudan at Human Rights Watch, agrees that the government hasn't done much. "The SPLA is entirely aware that at least two former militiamen who are now fighting with the government and who have both been integrated into the army are using and recruiting numerous child soldiers but have not made any significant steps towards punitive action," she told me recently by email. She added that she also knows of no significant efforts to curb the recruitment of children by Machar's SPLA-IO.
Last fall, U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Samantha Power chaired a meeting of the U.N. Security Council on children and armed conflict in which she declared: "Perpetrators have to be held accountable. Groups that fail to change their behavior must be hit where it hurts." A State Department official who refused to be named for this piece was equally unequivocal when it came to South Sudan. "Since the outbreak of the conflict, there have been no waivers issued," he told me in late March, "and we have expressed our concerns about the recruitment of children by multiple parties in the current conflict." But months earlier -- just weeks after Power's pronouncement and nearly a year after the civil war in South Sudan began -- President Obama had indeed issued another partial waiver allowing continued support for the country, despite the prohibitions of the Child Soldiers Prevention Act.
When I asked about this discrepancy, the State Department backtracked, admitting that the president had "authorized a partial waiver of the application of the prohibition in section 404(a) of the CSPA with respect to South Sudan to allow for the provision of PKO assistance," citing a provision of the act and referring to PKO, or "peacekeeping," funding long used to train and equip the SPLA. In this instance, the official insisted that "none of the funds relevant to this partial waiver have been used to provide any direct assistance to the SPLA."
Andy Burnett, a spokesperson from the Office of the Special Envoy to Sudan and South Sudan, then went further. "Just to apologize, the wording on our response back [to you] was confusing," he told me. "We were speaking about waivers that had been done as in the past -- related to capacity building and assistance for the SPLA. This partial waiver was done with a more narrow intent."
In fact, the way that waiver was issued did not sit well with some. "We were disappointed that a partial waiver was put in place last year again without a clear and public statement by the [U.S. government] that this was purely to allow certain activities (support to IGAD monitors and anti-LRA activities) and that the government would not be receiving any significant military support until the abuses, including use and recruitment of child soldiers, are properly addressed," HRW's Skye Wheeler told me. She was referring to the Intergovernmental Authority on Development's Monitoring and Verification Mechanism for South Sudan, set up in January 2014 to support mediation of the current civil war.
The State Department acknowledged the absence of such a declaration, but emphasized that the United States had expressed its "concern" about the issue to Kiir's government. Asked about South Sudan's response to those concerns, Burnett foggily replied that there were "differences of opinion about the extent to which [recruitment of children by the SPLA] is happening; arguments that when it's happening it's done by the opposition or other armed groups that are outside of [SPLA] control." In other words, after years of copious aid, effort, and waivers, the U.S. can't even get the government of South Sudan to acknowledge its wrongdoing when it comes to recruiting child fighters, let alone halt it.
Toy Guns, Real Guns, and National Interests
The war in South Sudan has been a nightmare for children. UNICEF estimates that 600,000 have been affected by psychological distress, 235,000 are at risk of severe acute malnutrition this year, and 680 have been killed. "Mothers are burying their children... the level of slaughter, of innocent victims, innocent civilians, is simply unacceptable by any standard whatsoever," Secretary of State John Kerry recently told South Sudan's Eye Radio in scolding remarks. The leaders of South Sudan's warring parties "Salva Kiir, the president, and Riek Machar... need to come to their senses," he said. "They need to sign an agreement that's real and they need to stop allowing the people to be the victims of their power struggle." On one thing Kerry was adamant: "We need to have accountability as this goes forward."
But what about U.S. accountability? Does the United States, after years of waivers, bear a responsibility for helping to entrench South Sudan's practice of using child soldiers? "In and of itself, it could be perceived as sanctioning the practice, but in the day-to-day reality of engaging, we were a strong advocate for moving beyond the practices that had been historically taking place and removing any child soldiers within the SPLA," says Andy Burnett. "I'm not saying we deserve full credit," he told me, even as he argued that the president's waivers had led to real progress.
Whatever progress might have been made before the civil war, as he readily admitted, was soon obliterated. So was the U.S. training effort in South Sudan a failure? After a wall of words about the difficulties involved in "creating an accountable and professional armed force" in the available time, Burnett took some responsibility, even if he carefully extended the blame to cover America's partners in the effort. "Yes, that the international effort to reform the SPLA was not successful in preventing something like this [the split of the SPLA in the war] is quite obvious," he told me. This admission, however, does little for the children toting arms now and those who will do so in the years ahead as part of what Burnett calls "a widening problem of child-soldiering," due to "even more incidences of recruitment of children by armed groups within this conflict."
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Young children with toy guns, Tomping Protection of Civilians Site, Juba, South Sudan, July 2014.
Walking through a camp for internally displaced persons at a U.N. base in South Sudan's capital, Juba, one blazing hot day last summer, I watched a young girl in a bright pink dress and sporting a huge smile, and a somewhat younger boy in pink shorts and gray sandals chase each other through the muck. Each of them was holding a tiny, black plastic pistol and pretending to shoot the other, just the type of game I reveled in as a boy.
As they raced around me, splattering mud and laughing, however, I began to wonder if one day just a few years down the road, she might be pressed into cooking or carrying water for soldiers and he might find himself with a real weapon thrust into his hands. It's a sad fact that, not so many years from now, I might well encounter that young boy -- his toy pistol exchanged for a real assault rifle -- on some out-of-the-way tarmac in the hinterlands of South Sudan. Should that day ever come, I imagine I'll feel just as unnerved as I did that morning in Malakal when a boy soldier turned his weapon in my direction. I'll then find little comfort in President Obama's contention that looking the other way on child soldiers is in "the national interest of the United States." And I'm sure I'll be just as disturbed that those "interests" -- cited by a president who has his own kids -- so easily trumped the interests of that boy in Malakal and the rest of South Sudan's children.
"It just started out as a simple goodbye song," James Douglas Morrison told reporter Jerry Hopkins. "Probably just to a girl, but I could see how it could be goodbye to a kind of childhood... I think it's sufficiently complex and universal in its imagery that it could be almost anything you want it to be."
"It just started out as a simple goodbye song," James Douglas Morrison told reporter Jerry Hopkins. "Probably just to a girl, but I could see how it could be goodbye to a kind of childhood... I think it's sufficiently complex and universal in its imagery that it could be almost anything you want it to be."
To me, the song always was and always will be about the Vietnam War. If you know it -- and you will the instant you hear the first notes and the shivering tambourine -- you know it as "The End." And if you know the man who sang that song, it's probably not as James Douglas but simply Jim. What you may not know about the Doors' lead singer is that his father, George Morrison, commanded the U.S. Naval fleet during the August 1964 Gulf of Tonkin incident, an event fraught with missteps, distortions, and deceptions that precipitated an escalation of the American War in Vietnam ultimately ending in millions of casualties and almost unimaginable suffering.
Jim Morrison's father is not, however, the reason I think of the Vietnam War when I hear that song. I owe that instead to Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 film Apocalypse Now, which begins with "The End" and ends with it, too. When people write about it, they often remark on the naked Oedipal imagery -- "Father? Yes son. I want to kill you. Mother? I want to...," howls Morrison. But whoever selected "The End" as the theme music for Apocalypse Now must have heard what I heard. It begins like bad poetry, mutates into a furious, profanity-laced tirade, only to glide into a creamy, dream-like ending. A smattering of lyrics along the way seem to capture the nightmare atmosphere of the American War in Vietnam.
"This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end..."
Forged in the fading afterglow of World War II, America's plans for a righteous nation to save a backward people were elaborate indeed. To Washington, the Vietnamese seemed to be
"Desperately in need of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land..."
America's moral superiority, its ingenuity, its technological know-how, its military might were unstoppable; with a requisite number of quislings in tow, the fall of those Southeast Asian dominos would be arrested, communism would be stopped, and a Cold War battle won.
"The West is the best, the West is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest..."
It turned out that the West wasn't the best, that all those Pentagon computers and statistical analyses and bombs and artillery shells and napalm and tanks and airplanes and helicopters and rifles and Swift boats and the generals who, as younger men, had defeated Germany and Japan during World War II, and the boys of the milk-and-honey baby boom toting those rifles and driving those tanks and dropping that napalm couldn't actually do "the rest." It turned out that Americans never won over more than a minority of the Vietnamese and, despite years of some of the most destructive warfare the world had ever seen, could not defeat the majority of them.
"It hurts to set you free,
But you'll never follow me,
The end of laughter and soft lies,
The end of nights we tried to die,
This is the end."
America's grand plans later revealed themselves to be bankrupt. Bombing millions into slums and refugee camps didn't necessarily mean those people would follow you. Soft lies mouthed by the military at 5 p.m. each evening were no substitute for actual victories. Laughter and glad-handing and talk of easy triumph were repeatedly blown apart. By the time it was all over, by the time the end had come, the entire American effort had hemorrhaged and bled out in a million hamlets across South Vietnam.
Jim Morrison recorded "The End" in 1966, when the American project in Vietnam still had life in it. Unlike his father, who passed away in 2008, he never saw the end of the Vietnam War, though the writing was already on the wall. He died in France -- the country whose war in Vietnam the Americans had bankrolled and then taken over -- in 1971.
Today, as TomDispatch regular Christian Appy notes, the end of that war -- a time of devastating defeat for the United States and relief, if not liberation, for most Vietnamese -- has been rebranded to suit American tastes and so offers a hint of what may come when other ends arrive in our present crash-and-burn conflicts in the Greater Middle East. As in his magisterial new book, American Reckoning: The Vietnam War and Our National Identity, -- rightly termed "required reading" by the Huffington Post -- Appy examines the lasting impact of the Vietnam War on American foreign policy, culture, and national identity and draws attention to the lessons it offers for today and the many tomorrows to come.
In a 1969 interview, Jim Morrison said that he was once approached by an attractive young woman "on leave" from UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Institute. She said "The End" was a favorite of the kids in her ward. The woman had puzzled over the lyrics, trying to divine the song's meaning, trying to break it down and piece it together. "I didn't realize people took songs so seriously and it made me wonder whether I ought to consider the consequences," Morrison observed.
Not considering the consequences turns out to be a very American trait, as Appy explains today, and so does refashioning history to make up for it. When the end finally comes in Iraq and Afghanistan, soft lies, willful amnesia, and rampant revisionism are bound to follow fast and furious; where the truth will be found remains to be seen. Sadly enough, a song already almost 50 years old may be as good a place to start as any.
Six people lay lifeless in the filthy brown water.
It was 5:09 a.m. when their Toyota Land Cruiser plunged off a bridge in the West African country of Mali. For about two seconds, the SUV sailed through the air, pirouetting 180 degrees as it plunged 70 feet, crashing into the Niger River.
Six people lay lifeless in the filthy brown water.
It was 5:09 a.m. when their Toyota Land Cruiser plunged off a bridge in the West African country of Mali. For about two seconds, the SUV sailed through the air, pirouetting 180 degrees as it plunged 70 feet, crashing into the Niger River.
Three of the dead were American commandos. The driver, a captain nicknamed "Whiskey Dan," was the leader of a shadowy team of operatives never profiled in the media and rarely mentioned even in government publications. One of the passengers was from an even more secretive unit whose work is often integral to Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), which conducts clandestine kill-and-capture missions overseas. Three of the others weren't military personnel at all or even Americans. They were Moroccan women alternately described as barmaids or "prostitutes."
The six deaths followed an April 2012 all-night bar crawl through Mali's capital, Bamako, according to a formerly classified report by U.S. Army criminal investigators. From dinner and drinks at a restaurant called Blah-Blah's to more drinks at La Terrasse to yet more at Club XS and nightcaps at Club Plaza, it was a rollicking swim through free-flowing vodka. And vodka and Red Bull. And vodka and orange juice. And vanilla pomegranate vodka. And Chivas Regal. And Jack Daniels. And Corona beer. And Castel beer. And don't forget B-52s, a drink generally made with Kahlua, Grand Marnier, and Bailey's Irish Cream. The bar tab at Club Plaza alone was the equivalent of $350 in U.S. dollars.At about 5 a.m. on April 20th, the six piled into that Land Cruiser, with Captain Dan Utley behind the wheel, to head for another hotspot: Bamako By Night. About eight minutes later, Utley called a woman on his cell phone to ask if she was angry. He said he'd circle back and pick her up, but she told him not to bother. Utley then handed the phone to Maria Laol, one of the Moroccan women. "Don't be upset. We'll come back and get you," she said. The woman on the other end of the call then heard screaming before the line went dead.
A Command With Something to Hide
In the years since, U.S. Africa Command or AFRICOM, which is responsible for military operations on that continent, has remained remarkably silent about this shadowy incident in a country that had recently seen its democratically elected president deposed in a coup led by an American-trained officer, a country with which the U.S. had suspended military relations a month earlier. It was, to say the least, strange. But it wasn't the first time U.S. military personnel died under murky circumstances in Africa, nor the first (or last) time the specter of untoward behavior led to a criminal investigation. In fact, as American military operations have ramped up across Africa, reaching a record 674 missions in 2014, reports of excessive drinking, sex with prostitutes, drug use, sexual assaults, and other forms of violence by AFRICOM personnel have escalated, even though many of them have been kept under wraps for weeks or months, sometimes even for years.
"Our military is built on a reputation of enduring core values that are at the heart of our character," Major (then Brigadier) General Wayne Grigsby Jr., the former chief of AFRICOM's subordinate command, Combined Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa (CJTF-HOA), wrote in an address to troops last year. "Part of belonging to this elite team is living by our core values and professionalism every day. Incorporating those values into everything we do is called our profession of arms."
But legal documents, Pentagon reports, and criminal investigation files, many of them obtained by TomDispatch through dozens of Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests and never before revealed, demonstrate that AFRICOM personnel have all too regularly behaved in ways at odds with those "core values." The squeaky clean image the command projects through news releases, official testimony before Congress, and mainstream media articles -- often by cherry-picked journalists who are granted access to otherwise unavailable personnel and locales -- doesn't hold up to inspection.
"As a citizen and soldier, I appreciate how important it is to have an informed public that helps to provide accountable governance and is also important in the preservation of the trust between a military and a society and nation it serves," AFRICOM Commander General David Rodriguez said at a press conference last year. Checking out these revelations of misdeeds with AFRICOM'S media office to determine just how representative they are, however, has proven impossible.
I made several hundred attempts to contact the command for comment and clarification while this article was being researched and written, but was consistently rebuffed. Dozens of phone calls to public affairs personnel went unanswered and scores of email requests were ignored. At one point, I called AFRICOM media chief Benjamin Benson 32 times on a single business day from a phone that identified me by name. It rang and rang. He never picked up. I then placed a call from a different number so my identity would not be apparent. He answered on the second ring. After I identified myself, he claimed the connection was bad and the line went dead. Follow-up calls from the second number followed the same pattern -- a behavior repeated day after day for weeks on end.
This strategy, of course, mirrored the command's consistent efforts to keep embarrassing incidents quiet, concealing many of them and acknowledging others only with the sparest of reports. The command, for example, issued a five-sentence press release regarding those deaths in Bamako. They provided neither the names of the Americans nor the identities of the "three civilians" who perished with them. They failed to mention that the men were with the Special Operations forces, noting only that the deceased were "U.S. military members." For months after the crash, the Pentagon kept secret the name of Master Sergeant Trevor Bast, a communications technician with the Intelligence and Security Command (whose personnel often work closely with JSOC) -- until the information was pried out by the Washington Post's Craig Whitlock.
"It must be noted that the activities of U.S. military forces in Mali have been very public," Colonel Tom Davis of AFRICOM told TomDispatch in the wake of the deaths, without explaining why the commandos were still in the country a month after the United States had suspended military relations with Mali's government. In the years since, the command has released no additional information about the episode.
True to form, AFRICOM's Benjamin Benson failed to respond to requests for comment and clarification, but according to the final report on the incident by Army criminal investigators (obtained by TomDispatch through a FOIA request), the deaths of Utley, Bast, Sergeant First Class Marciano Myrthil, and the three women "were accidental, however [Captain] Utley's actions were negligent resulting in the passengers' deaths." A final review by a staff judge advocate from Special Operations Command Africa found that there was probable cause to conclude Utley was guilty of negligent homicide.
AFRICOM's Sex Crimes
The criminal investigation of the incident in Mali touched upon relationships between U.S. military personnel and African "females." Indeed, the U.S. military has many regulations regarding romantic attachments and sexual activity. AFRICOM personnel have not always adhered to such strictures and, in the course of my reporting, I asked Benson if the command has had a problem with sexual misconduct. He never responded.
In recent years, allegations of widespread sex crimes have dogged the U.S. military. A Pentagon survey estimated that 26,000 members of the armed forces were sexually assaulted in 2012, though just one in 10 of those victims reported the assaults. In 2013, the number of personnel reporting such incidents jumped by 50% to 5,518 and last year reached nearly 6,000. Given the gross underreporting of sexual assaults, it's impossible to know how many of these crimes involved AFRICOM personnel, but documents examined by TomDispatch suggests a problem does indeed exist.
In August 2011, for example, a Marine with Joint Enabling Capabilities Command assigned to AFRICOM was staying at a hotel in Germany, the site of the command's headquarters. He began making random room-to-room calls that were eventually traced. According to court martial documents examined by TomDispatch, the recipient of one of them said the "subject matter of the phone call essentially dealt with a solicitation for a sexual tryst."
About a week after he began making the calls, the Marine, who had previously been a consultant for the CIA, began chatting up a boy in the hotel lounge. After learning that the youngster was 14 years old, "the conversation turned to oral sex with men and the appellant asked [the teen] if he had ever been interested in oral sex with men. He also told [the teen] that if the appellant or any of his male friends were aroused, they would have oral sex with one another," according to legal documents. The boy attempted to change the subject, but the Marine moved closer to him, began "rubbing his [own] crotch area through his shorts," and continued to talk to him "in graphic detail about sexual matters and techniques" before the youngster left the lounge. The Marine was later court-martialed for his actions and convicted of making a false official statement, as well as "engaging in indecent liberty with a child" -- that is, engaging in an act meant to arouse or gratify sexual desire while in a child's presence.
That same year, according to a Pentagon report, a noncommissioned officer committed a sexual assault on a female subordinate at an unnamed U.S. base in Djibouti (presumably Camp Lemonnier, the headquarters of Combined Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa). "Subject grabbed victim's head and forced her to continue having sexual intercourse with him," the report says. He received a nonjudicial punishment including a reduction in rank, a fine of half-pay for two months, 45 days of restriction, and 45 days of extra duty. The latter two punishments were later suspended and the perpetrator was, at the time the report was prepared, "being processed for administrative separation."
At an "unknown location" in Djibouti in 2011, an enlisted woman reported being raped by a fellow service member "while on watch." According to a synopsis prepared by the Department of Defense, that man "was not charged with any criminal violations in reference to the rape allegation against him. Victim pled guilty to failure to obey a lawful order and false official statement."
In a third case in Djibouti, an enlisted woman reported opening the door to her quarters only to be attacked. An unknown assailant "placed his left hand over her mouth and placed his right hand under her shirt and began to slide it up the side of her body." All leads were later deemed exhausted and no suspect was identified. According to Air Force documents obtained by TomDispatch, allegations also surfaced concerning an assault with intent to commit rape in Morocco, a forcible sodomy in Ethiopia, and possession of child pornography in Djibouti, all in 2012.
On July 22nd of that year, a group of Americans traveled to a private party in Djibouti attended by U.S. Ambassador Geeta Pasi and Major General Ralph Baker, the commander of a counterterrorism force in the Horn of Africa. Baker drank heavily, according to an AFRICOM senior policy adviser who sat with him in the backseat of a sport utility vehicle on the return trip to Camp Lemonnier. While two military personnel, one of them an agent of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), sat just a few feet away, Baker "forced his hand between [the adviser's] legs and attempted to touch her vagina against her will," according to a classified criminal investigation file obtained through the Freedom of Information Act.
"I grabbed his hand and held it on the seat to try to prevent him from putting his hand deeper between my legs," she told an investigator. "He responded by smiling at me and saying, 'Cat got your tongue?' I was appalled about what he was doing to me and did not know what to say." She later reported the offense via the Department of Defense's Sexual Assault Hotline. According to a report in the Washington Post, "Baker was given an administrative punishment at the time of the incident as well as a letter of reprimand -- usually a career-ending punishment." Demoted in rank to brigadier general, he was allowed to quietly retire in September 2013.
A Pentagon report on sexual assault lists allegations of three incidents in Djibouti in 2013 -- one act of "abusive sexual contact" and two reports of "wrongful sexual contact." The report also details a case in which a member of the U.S. military reported that she and a group of friends had been out eating and drinking at a local establishment. Upon returning to her quarters at the base, one of her male companions asked to enter her room and she gave him permission. He then began to kiss her neck and shoulders. When she resisted, according to the report, "he grabbed her shorts and began to kiss and lick her vagina." That man was later charged with rape, abusive sexual contact, and wrongful sexual contact. He was tried and acquitted.
The Pentagon has yet to issue its 2014 report on sexual assaults and AFRICOM has failed to release any statistics on its own, but given that military personnel fail to report most sexual crimes, whatever numbers may emerge will undoubtedly be drastic undercounts.
Sex, Drugs, and Guns
On the morning of April 10, 2010, a Navy investigator walked through the door of room 3092 at the Sarova Whitesands Beach Resort in Mombasa, Kenya. Two empty wine bottles sat in the trash can. Another was on the floor. There were remnants of feminine hygiene products on the bathroom countertop, Axe body spray in an armoire, unopened condoms on a table, and inside a desk drawer, a tan powder that he took to be "an illicit narcotic," all of this according to an official report by that NCIS agent obtained by TomDispatch through the Freedom of Information Act.
Three days before, on April 7th, Sergeant Roberto Diaz-Boria of the Puerto Rico Army National Guard had been staying in this room. On leave from Manda Bay, Kenya -- home of Camp Simba, a hush-hush military outpost in Africa -- he had come to Mombasa to kick back. That night, along with a brother-in-arms, he ended up at Causerina, a nearby bar that locals said was a hotspot for drugs and prostitution. Diaz-Boria left Causerina with a "female companion," according to official documents, paid the requisite fee for such guests at the hotel, and took her to his room. By morning, he was dead.
A news story released soon after by Combined Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa stated that Diaz-Boria had died while "stationed" in Mombasa. The cause of death, the article noted, was "under investigation." CJTF-HOA failed to respond to a request for additional information about the case, but an Army investigation later determined that the sergeant "accidentally died of multiple drug toxicity after drinking alcohol and using cocaine and heroin." Where he obtained the drugs was never determined, but according to the summary of an interview with an NCIS agent, a close friend in his infantry unit did say that there were "rumors within the battalion about the easy access to very potent illegal narcotics in Manda Bay, Kenya."
Kenya is hardly an anomaly. Criminal inquiries regarding illicit drug use also took place in Ethiopia in 2012 and Burkina Faso in 2013, while another investigation into distribution was conducted in Cameroon that same year, according to Air Force records obtained by TomDispatch. AFRICOM did not respond to questions concerning any of these investigations.
In late 2012, when I asked what U.S. personnel were up to in Dire Dawa, Ethiopia, AFRICOM spokesman Eric Elliott replied that troops were "supporting humanitarian activities in the area." Indeed, official documents and other sources indicate U.S. personnel have been carrying out aid activities in the region for years. But that wasn't all they were doing.
The Lonely Planet guide says that the Samrat Hotel provides the best digs in town, with a "classy lobby" and "a good nightclub and restaurant." The one drawback: "stiff mattresses." That apparently didn't affect the activities of at least nine of 19 U.S. military personnel from the 775th Engineer Detachment of the Tennessee Army National Guard. After an unidentified "local national female" was seen emerging from a "secured communications room" in the hotel, a preliminary investigation was launched and found "military members of the unit allegedly routinely solicited prostitutes in the lobby of the hotel and later brought the prostitutes back to their assigned rooms or to the secured communications room," according to documents obtained via FOIA request. A later report by Army agents determined that personnel from the 775th Engineer Detachment and the 415th Civil Affairs Battalion "individually engaged in sexual acts in exchange for money" at the hotel between July 1 and July 22, 2013. In the room of a staff sergeant, investigators also found what appeared to be khat, a popular local narcotic that offers a hyperactive high marked by aggressiveness that ultimately leaves the user in a glassy-eyed daze.
A sworn statement by a medic who served in Dire Dawa that month -- obtained by TomDispatch in a separate FOIA request -- paints a picture of a debauched atmosphere of partying, local "girlfriends," and a variety of sex acts. "Originally, before we departed to Ethiopia, I grabbed around 70 condoms. However, I was told that was not going to be enough," said the medic, noting that it was his job to carry medical supplies. Instead, he brought 200. He confessed to obtaining a prostitute through the bartender at the Samrat Hotel and admitted to engaging in sex acts with another woman who, he said, later revealed herself to be a prostitute. He paid her the equivalent of $60. Another service member showed him pictures of a "local national in his bed in his hotel room," the medic told the NCIS agent. He continued:
"I know this girl is a prostitute because I pulled her from the club previously. The name of the club was 'The Pom-Pom'... I had hooked up with this girl before [redacted name] so when he showed me the photo I recognized the girl. [Redacted name] stated how she had a nice booty and was good in bed... I want to say that [redacted name] told me he paid about 1,000 Birr (roughly $30 US dollars), but I can't recall exactly."
Army investigation documents obtained by TomDispatch also indicate similar extracurricular activities by members of the 607th Air Control Squadron and the 422nd Communications Squadron in neighboring Djibouti. An inquiry by Army criminal investigators determined that there was probable cause to believe three noncommissioned officers "committed the offense of patronizing a prostitute" at an "off-base residence" in June 2013.
AFRICOM failed to respond to repeated requests for comment on or to provide further information about members of the command engaging in illicit sex. It was similarly nonresponsive when it came to criminal inquests into allegations of arson in South Africa, larceny in Burkina Faso, graft in Algeria, and drunk and disorderly conduct in Nigeria, among other alleged crimes. The command has kept quiet about violent incidents as well.
On April 19, 2013, for instance, something went terribly wrong in Manda Bay, Kenya. A specialist with the Kentucky Army National Guard, deployed at Camp Simba and reportedly upset by a posting he saw on Facebook, got drunk on bourbon whiskey -- more than a fifth of Jim Beam, according to witnesses -- stole a 9mm pistol, and shot a superior officer. He would also point the pistol at a staff sergeant and a master sergeant and then barricade himself in his barracks room. A member of the Army's Special Forces serving at the base told an NCIS agent what he saw when the soldier emerged from his quarters:
"He had a gun in his hand and he was waving it around with the barrel level. He was saying something to the effect of 'Fuck you!' or something like that. I heard the [redacted] say something like 'put the gun down!' a couple of times and then the [redacted] shot at the subject 2-3 times with his handgun."
The drunken soldier was hit once in the leg and later surrendered. An investigation determined that the specialist had probably committed a host of offenses under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, including wrongful appropriation of government property, failure to obey an order, and aggravated assault, although a charge of attempted murder was deemed "unfounded." The incident, detailed in previously classified documents, was never made public.
General Malfeasance
AFRICOM has certainly had its troubles, starting at the top, since it began overseeing the U.S. military pivot to Africa. Its first chief, General William "Kip" Ward, who led the fledgling command from 2007 until 2011, was demoted after a 2012 investigation by the Department of Defense Inspector General's office found he had committed a raft of misdeeds, such as using taxpayer-funded military aircraft for personal travel and spending lavishly on hotels.
During an 11-day trip to Washington, for example, he billed the government $129,000 in expenses for his wife, 13 employees, and himself, but conducted official business on just two of those days. According to the Inspector General's report, Ward also had AFRICOM personnel ferry his wife around and run errands for the two of them, including shopping for "candy and baby items, picking up flowers and books, delivering snacks, and acquiring tickets to sporting events." He even accepted "complimentary meals and Broadway show tickets" from a "prohibited source with multiple [Department of Defense] contracts."
Ward was ordered to repay the government $82,000 and busted down from four stars to three, which will cost him about $30,000 yearly in retirement pay. He'll now only receive $208,802 annually. An AFRICOM webpage devoted to the highlights of Ward's career mentions nothing of his transgressions, demotion, or punishment. The only clue to all of this is his official photo. In it, he's sporting four stars while his bio states that "Ward retired at the rank of Lieutenant General in November 2012."
Ward's wasteful ways became major news, but the story of his malfeasance has been the exception. For every SUV that plunged off a bridge or general who was busted down for misbehavior, how many other AFRICOM sexual assaults, shootings, and prostitution scandals remain unknown?
For years, as U.S. military personnel moved into Africa in ever-increasing numbers, AFRICOM has effectively downplayed, disguised, or covered-up almost every aspect of its operations, from the locations of its troop deployments to those of its expanding string of outposts. Not surprisingly, it's done the same when it comes to misdeeds by members of the command and continues to ignore questions surrounding crimes and alleged misconduct by its personnel, refusing even to answer emails or phone calls about them. With taxpayer money covering the salaries of lawbreakers and the men and women who investigate them, with America's sons dying after drink and drug binges and its daughters assaulted and sexually abused while deployed, the American people deserve answers when it comes to the conduct of U.S. forces in Africa. Personally, I remain eager to hear AFRICOM's side of the story, should Benjamin Benson ever be in the mood to return my calls.