Meanwhile, in Afghanistan... Mehdi Hasan on the latest casualties

Seal Team 6 members among the 38 killed in Afghanistan.

As we all obsess over the chaos in the markets and the impending economic armageddon, few politicians or journalists have time to discuss the ongoing chaos out in Afghanistan.

Yesterday, Navy Seals from the unit responsible for killing Osama Bin Laden were among 30 Americans, seven Afghans and an interpreter killed when their helicopter was shot down by insurgents in the mountainous Wardak province of Afghanistan.

No member of the Bin Laden raid team was among the dead but it was the largest number of American troops killed in a single day in the war -- and the deadliest incident for the Seal team in any war. (See here for an Associated Press list of some of the deadliest military air crashes in Afghanistan since the US invasion on 7 October 2001).

As the Los Angeles Times notes:

The episode could embolden the insurgency at a time when western and Afghan officials have been hoping a weakened Taliban movement can be lured to the bargaining table. Like the assassination last month of Karzai's powerful half brother, it will be viewed by many as a sign of the insurgents' reach and power.

Is anyone here paying any attention?

Oh, and let's not forget the plight of ordinary Afghan civilians. From the AFP news agency:

Afghan civilians may have been caught up in a Nato air strike against suspected Taliban insurgents, a foreign military spokesman said Saturday, amid claims up to eight civilians died.

A local official said that an imam, his wife and their six children were killed by an air strike in Nad Ali district in southern Afghanistan's Helmand province Friday.

The incident appears to be the latest in which Afghan civilians have been accidentally killed by Nato military operations. The issue is highly sensitive in Afghanistan after nearly ten years of war.

"Highly sensitive"? That's the understatement of the month.

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

Show Hide image

For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood