Zia Rahman - In the Light of What We Know

You say the Saudis are to blame, but it is the Americans who permit all this, said Mehrani.

They are co-conspirators, said the general. You think a thug is exonerated because a bigger thug is standing behind him? Yes, of course oil is at the root. Oil and business. I was reading the Petroleum Intelligence Weekly —

Sounds like a barrel of laughs, said Mehrani.

Very droll, said Hassan.

On September 12, 2001, the Saudis pumped out — oh, I see! Barrel of laughs. Very good.

Thank you, said Mehrani.

The general looked helpless; he seemed to have lost his thread.

September 12.

Indeed. On September 12, 2001, the Saudis pumped out an extra nine million barrels of oil, most of it for the American markets. Oil prices barely moved after the worst terrorist attacks in American history. Saudi Arabia has half of the world’s surplus production capacity. What does that mean? It means that Saudi Arabia, unlike any other nation in the world, can move oil prices to suit its whim, but in exchange for U.S. protection the Saudi king keeps them stable.

Now he’s going to tell you that the destruction of the Twin Towers was a Jewish conspiracy.

You laugh, but some of these conspiracy theories … I’ll tell you this much—

Conspiracy theories are not what they seem? interjected the colonel mischievously.

Exactly so, replied the general, altogether blind to the colonel’s joke.

What do you make of these conspiracy theories, my boy?

The colonel took me by surprise.

Yes, you. What do you make of them?

Generally?

Or specifically.

I think conspiracy theories are lies.

Well said, replied the colonel, though not taking his eyes off me.

Lies, I continued, propagated by a shadowy international force.

The general was the only one not laughing.

I’m not talking about conspiracy theories, he said.

What exactly are you talking about? asked the colonel.

That would actually undermine my argument.

Which is? I must say, I’m losing your thread.

The Saudi royal family keeps oil prices low. Americans may complain about the high price of oil, but a democratic Saudi Arabia or an unfriendly one would hike prices and gouge the world markets for what they’re worth. Why do they keep it low? Because they’ve earned protection or a blind eye from America, as the royal family’s needs dictate. Washington has been paid off, defense contractors are kept in fine fettle, and the U.S. Navy takes care of Saudi national defense to boot. It works like a tax on Americans. Who, after all, pays for the American aircraft carriers and fighter jets that protect Saudi Arabia? Who pays for the oil but the U.S. citizen? One in five dollars earned from oil-hungry Americans buys off Washington and defense contractors.

But Americans are better off. They get low oil prices, as you say.

Yes. Everyone is happy. Except. Except ordinary Saudis. We talk about income inequality, but ordinary Saudis live in a country that won’t even keep relevant data and doesn’t want to know or let it be known; everyone is happy except ordinary Muslims who see the Hejaz overrun by foreigners. What did Osama bin Laden say right after the September 11 attacks? What was the first thing he posted on the Internet? He called for the expulsion of the infidel from Arabia. The Muslim world watches the hypocrisy with righteous indignation.

The Americans are not alone.

Of course not. Britain has become a poodle and Blair is a bastard of the highest magnitude. And now these bastards justify their invasion of Afghanistan with platitudes about freedom and liberating the Afghani people. You can’t turn on the news without seeing some Western political sage quoting surveys showing that Afghanis just want to lead their lives in peace and security. You know what? When I hear that, I want to reach for my gun. Afghanis, the pundit says, are no different from the people of Britain or America. Does he mean to say that the British and Americans don’t want anything more? The way of life of a nation is more than merely living in peace. If people don’t have peace and security, of course that’s all they want. When they have that, the other wants come into play. They then want a certain kind of society and certain kind of life. And our idea of a good life is not the same as theirs. Neo-imperialists, all of them. They cannot abandon their imperialist mentality, every utterance steeped in orientalist bullshit. And back they come for the same, over and over. The British diplomatic service is overrun by them; though they may think they’re above it all. Take that chap who went for a long walk. I hear his book is coming out soon, something about Afghanistan. Yet he traveled across half of Asia, you know. Orientalist to the bone but with enough romanticism to stave off the disappointment that awaits the rest.

That’s a little unfair, I interjected.

What do you mean?

He’s orientalist because he traveled across half of Asia? You haven’t advanced anything approaching an argument, unless you’re saying that everyone who writes a book should describe all his experiences. Is that right? I asked him, a little facetiously.

You like him? the colonel asked me, intervening. Of course you do. You have a soft spot for Etonians. What is the American expression? Get over it.

He then did something that caught me totally off guard. He winked at me. The wink did more than take the edge off the admonishment contained in Get over it ; it acknowledged my embarrassment — the general was on the mark — but it also made me feel that my embarrassment was safe with him.

Bloody British. Bloody perfidious Albion, said Hassan, now quite hammered. One swallow does not a summer make, I tell you.

Definitely more whisky, said the general.

No two ways about it, added the colonel.

* * *

The following morning, I was taken to the airport for my flight to Kabul. We drove in a Land Cruiser with dark windows, the colonel and I sitting together in the back.

You’re staying at AfDARI, aren’t you? the colonel asked.

I don’t know where but I believe the UN rapporteur has made arrangements.

I’ll have you picked up at the airport. In Kabul, I mean. And in future, when you come to Pakistan, I’ll have you picked up at the airport here also. As a matter of fact, fly PIA and use your credit card. We’ll have you reimbursed.

Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.

Nonsense, he replied.

You know that I have an employer, I pointed out.

Keep it that way. It is your company I enjoy.

I think you may be mistaking me for someone else.

Not at all. That, I think, is what you’re doing.

I know you’re in the Pakistani army, someone senior, and I suspect with a little more authority than your rank confers.

I mean that you are mistaking yourself for someone else.

I see. You’re a Zen Buddhist after all.

I think you are a little secretive.

Not very effectively. You and your friends seem to know enough.

What is strange to me is that although I know a fair deal about you, I’m still puzzled as to who you really are.

Anonymity is my middle name.

The colonel chuckled. I should have liked a son like you, he said.

Do you think I’m involved in some kind of subterfuge? A masquerade?

No, no, no! You’re not a pretender. You’re much further on. No, my boy, you are so unsure of your bearings that you wonder if you’re pretending to be the person you actually are. How can I tell? I see it in your face. I see the searching assessment, which you hide well but unsuccessfully, at least to me. You have never had doors opened for you, and so you learned how to pick locks, as did I. I have survived every administration. We are a dangerous breed, you and I. We are lock pickers. We are dangerous to others and to ourselves. It is always a great risk to open a door if you don’t know what’s behind it. You didn’t talk much last night.