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The town in northern Afghanistan offers a classic illustration of the kind
of situation the Geneva Conventions were designed to deal with. There are plenty
of other examples any day of the week in other countries. From Congo to Chechnya,
soldiers are shooting the unarmed, but none is experiencing the same media attention
as Kunduz. One can lament the promiscuous nature of the media, lavishing attention
on one horror while ignoring many others. But that does not take away the singular
opportunity that Kunduz presents.
The word "opportunity" might seem strange in the circumstances: thousands in
terror of their lives, the word massacre reverberating across the world. But Kunduz
offers us the chance to make a practical statement of belief of a kind rarely
possible in a world of cynical power games and political expediency. With no reliable
news coming from the city itself, the world speculates on the terrors of its inhabitants.
We are told that foreign Taliban fighters are preventing a surrender and even
executing those who advocate such a course of action.
From my own experience of siege conditions, I can testify that the atmosphere
in the town will be thick with panic. I remember the Angolan city of Menongue
– the colonial Portuguese called it the place at the end of the earth –
during the Unita siege of the early 90s. We flew in on a rare aid flight, the
jet taking a steep descent to avoid becoming too easy a target for anti-aircraft
missiles. On the ground we encountered a terrified civilian population and a defending
army that was only a little less frightened. Most of the food was gone, and shells
were landing regularly in the town center.
Though the shells were still killing people, the greater concern by far was
whether the town would be able to hold off an all-ground assault by Unita. The
rebel army, led by Jonas Savimbi – one of Africa's most disagreeable psychopaths
– had little respect for the notion of human rights and regarded the Geneva
Conventions, designed to protect civilians and prisoners of war, with contempt.
In that, it must be said that Mr Savimbi's army was acting in much the same way
as the mass of African armies do. All over the continent I've seen the logical
consequence of a policy of "no quarter". Bodies shot, knifed, burned and mutilated,
the human form rendered into a fearful-looking pulp in the vengeful aftermath
of siege.
The people in Menongue had a fair idea of what to expect if their town fell
to Unita. (For the record, the Angolan government's army showed little respect
for the Geneva Conventions when its forces executed scores of Unita fighters in
the capital several years later). What I will never forget is the pure terror
in the faces of those condemned to stay behind in Menongue while we flew out to
safety. If the city fell it would be a long time before any outsider, journalist
or human rights investigator would come to search for mass graves or torture chambers.
The most dangerous moments in the life of a siege are those first few hours
after the entry of the victorious forces. In the flush of victory, and with hatred
of the enemy and his civilian supporters (for that is how many soldiers will regard
them), acts of cruelty can be rampant. Take a disciplined army and put it through
weeks of laying siege and taking casualties, and commanders will have difficulty
in imposing restraint. When you are dealing with forces for whom there is no tradition
of adherence to the Geneva Conventions, forces who are actively encouraged to
give "no quarter", massacre becomes inevitable. The men who currently encircle
Kunduz will hardly know where the town of Geneva is located, let alone enjoy any
familiarity with its famous protocols.
In fact, soldiers have refined the issue of survival down to a question of
minutes. If a captured soldier can make it through the first 10 minutes in the
hands of the enemy, he stands a fair chance of staying alive on a more permanent
basis. In the terrible battles of the Pacific islands in the Second World War,
the ferocity of the Japanese defense, and their brutal attitude towards prisoners,
led to numerous examples of American troops shooting surrendering soldiers of
the Imperial Army. The fact that many of the surrenders were false, a tactic now
outlawed by the Geneva protocols, helped to harden US attitudes towards putative
prisoners of war.
It took us until Bosnia and Rwanda to show any willingness to implement the
Geneva protocols. Our governments were shamed into action. But there is now a
greater awareness of humanitarian law and responsibilities than at any time in
history. And, at Kunduz, there are cameras circling on the edges of the siege.
The world will eventually discover what happens. The reported discovery of up
to 600 bodies in Mazar-i-Sharif has already heightened the suspicions of the media
and human rights investigators.
Also, the besieging army is acting as a partner of Western powers who have
proclaimed loudly that they are fighting for universal values, not least among
these the rule of law. That is why this siege is such a defining moment. I heard
a television presenter ask the other night why men who showed no mercy to their
opponents and who flew airliners into buildings should benefit from the Geneva
Conventions. In other words, why not allow the lot of them to be killed? But don't
forget that we granted a fair trial to the men accused of murdering six million
Jews. There were many who wanted the German leaders shot on sight, but humanity
is undoubtedly the better off for having followed the process of law.
The simple answer is to recognize why we have the Geneva protocols in the first
place. The specific protections arose out of the horrendous abuses inflicted by
the Nazis and their Japanese allies. The protocols are a statement of our difference
and, in that sense, transcend even the realm of law. They are documents of the
human spirit, our best way forward out of genocide and barbarism.
The coalition must use whatever pressure it can to insist that the Northern
Alliance does not embark on a rampage in Kunduz. It is, in the most fundamental
sense imaginable, a choice about the kind of world in which we want to live.
The writer is a BBC Special Correspondent
© 2001 Independent Digital (UK) Ltd
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