The UK and its partners must commit to Afghanistan

The Afghan people were promised a country where human rights are respected and protected. We cannot

Osama Bin Laden's death has fuelled questions about the UK's presence in Afghanistan. Amidst all the debate, we are in danger of losing sight of the crucial point: when the international forces leave Afghanistan, they must leave behind national forces capable and ready to protect the Afghan people – or risk the country plunging back into civil war.

July marks the start of yet another chapter in Afghanistan's story when international forces begin to hand over responsibility for security to the Afghan army and police. The handover is due to be completed by the end of 2014 – a dauntingly ambitious timetable in this fragile country.

It is far from certain that Afghanistan will have an adequately professional, accountable national security force by the time the international forces leave. Yet this, above all, is what will determine the legacy the UK and its partners leave behind after a long and costly war.

The ousting of the Taliban in 2001 was heralded as a defining moment for the Afghan people – a "triumph for human rights", in the words of the US state department. Four years later, when more than 50 nations gathered in London to discuss the rebuilding of Afghanistan, there was still a sense of optimism about the country's future.

The leaders at that conference knew that a professional, nationally respected and ethnically balanced police and army were vital to building a stable and prosperous Afghanistan. They agreed they would help to create these security forces by the end of 2010. That deadline has now passed – but few would claim that the expectations of the Afghan people have been met. Instead, amid dwindling hopes for Afghanistan, efforts to build the nation's security forces stand out as one of the greatest failures of the past decade.

Basic instincts

In February the head of Nato's training mission in Afghanistan, Lieutenant General Caldwell, candidly acknowledged the grave mistakes made in the attempt to rapidly develop the national security forces. In particular, he admitted the international military have prioritised quantity over quality, with devastating results.

As he said: "We sent [police] into service with no training, no police education, and with only the promise to train [them] some day . . . and we wondered why so many Afghans felt their police were corrupt and ineffective . . . Well, they were."

Indeed, one official working for the International Security Assistance Force (Isaf) said that, as late as 2008, "community members were basically rounded up off the street, told they were doing cash-for-work, and then they'd turn up at training and told they were police". There are currently an estimated 40,000 police who have not received even the most basic training. It's not surprising they're so derided by the Afghan public.

But it's not just about international governments keeping their promises. Afghan communities desperately want security and have high hopes for their own security forces. Training is a big problem, but so, too, is the lack of accountability of the police and army. Many Afghans believe – justifiably so – that Afghan soldiers and police are able to carry out abuse with impunity.

Last year, a young girl was raped by Afghan soldiers and then shot in the head when she tried to resist. The alleged perpetrator was assisted to flee the area by members of the security forces. An investigation was finally initiated under pressure from the army's legal advisers, but there was no investigation into the attempted cover-up.

In another incident, two women were lashed in public by local elders as police stood by laughing and clapping. The authorities told the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission (AIHRC) that it wasn't possible to carry out an investigation.

When will they ever learn?

This perception that the Afghan police and army are able to get away with rape and other serious human rights abuses is undermining popular support for the Afghan government – with grave political implications. As one investigator with the AIHRC explained, "Everybody knows that the Taliban abuse human rights, but people have more hope from their own forces. And where there's a lot of hope, there's a lot of blame."

We know that the west's neglect of Afghanistan after the Soviet withdrawal contributed to the ongoing conflict and instability. Lessons need to be learned from past mistakes.

War in Afghanistan is not inevitable. If Afghans see justice being done, and feel protected from violence by an army and a police force that are accountable to the public, there's a vastly better chance that international efforts could succeed in breaking the seemingly endless cycle of war.

The Afghan people were promised a country where human rights are respected, protected and governed by the rule of law. We cannot afford to let them down – for their sakes and for our own. It's not yet too late, but without genuine political commitment at the highest levels of civilian and military leadership to build the kind of national security forces that Afghans can trust, it soon will be.

Rebecca Barber is a humanitarian policy officer with Oxfam and the author of a recent report on Afghanistan, No Time to Lose.

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How “cli-fi” novels humanise the science of climate change

The paradox is that the harder climate-fiction novels try, the less effective they are.

When the Paris UN Climate Change Conference begins at the end of November, the world’s leaders will review the climate framework agreed in Rio in 1992. For well over 20 years, the world has not just been thinking and talking about climate change, it has also been writing and reading about it, in blogs, newspapers, magazines – and in novels.

Climate change fiction is now a recognisable literary phenomenon replete with its own nickname: “cli-fi”. The term was coined in 2007 by Taiwan-based blogger Dan Bloom. Since then, its use has spread: it was even tweeted by Margaret Atwood in 2013:

It is not a genre in the accepted scholarly sense, since it lacks the plot formulas or stylistic conventions that tend to define genres (such as science fiction or the western). However, it does name a remarkable recent literary and publishing trend.

A 21st-century phenomenon?

Putting a number to this phenomenon depends, partly, on how one defines cli-fi. How much of a novel has to be devoted to climate change before it is considered cli-fi? Should we restrict the term to novels about man-made global warming? (If we don’t, we should remember that narratives about global climatic change are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Biblical story of the flood.) If we define cli-fi as fictional treatments of climate change caused by human activity in terms of setting, theme or plot – and accept there will be grey areas in the extent of this treatment – a conservative estimate would put the all-time number of cli-fi novels at 150 and growing. This is the figure put forward by Adam Trexler, who has worked with me to survey the development of cli-fi.

This definition also gives us a start date for cli-fi’s history. While planetary climatic change occurs in much 20th-century science fiction, it is only after growing scientific awareness of specifically man-made, carbon-induced climate change in the 1960s and 1970s that novels on this subject emerged. The first is Arthur Herzog’s Heat in 1976, followed by George Turner’s The Sun and the Summer (published in the US as Drowning Towers) in 1987.

At the turn of this century, Maggie Gee and TC Boyle were among the first mainstream authors to publish climate change novels. In this century, we can count Atwood, Michael Crichton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ian McEwan, Kim Stanley Robinson, Ilija Trojanow and Jeanette Winterson as major authors who have written about climate change. The past five years have given us notable examples of cli-fi by emerging authors, such as Steven Amsterdam, Edan Lepucki, Jane Rawson, Nathaniel Rich and Antti Tuomainen.

Creative challenges

Cli-fi is all the more noteworthy considering the creative challenge posed by climate change. First, there is the problem of scale – spatial and temporal. Climate change affects the entire planet and all its species – and concerns the end of this planet as we know it. Novels, by contrast, conventionally concern the actions of individual protagonists and/or, sometimes, small communities.

Added to this is the networked nature of climate change: in physical terms, the climate is a large, complex system whose effects are difficult to model. In socio-cultural terms, solutions require intergovernmental agreement – just what COP21 intends – and various top-down and bottom-up transformations. Finally, there exists the difficulty of translating scientific information, with all its predictive uncertainty, into something both accurate and interesting to the average reader.

Still, cli-fi writers have adopted a range of strategies to engage their readers. Many cli-fi novels could be classified as dystopian, post-apocalyptic or, indeed, both – depicting nightmarish societies triggered by sometimes catastrophic climate events. A future world is one effective way of narrating the planetary condition of climate change.

Some novelists are also careful to underpin their scenarios with rigorous climatic predictions and, in this way, translate science fact into a fictional setting. Kingsolver, who trained as an ecologist, is the best example of this – and Atwood and Robinson are also known for their attempts at making their speculations scientifically plausible. Also, cli-fi novels, particularly those set in the present day or very near future rather than in a dystopian future, tend to show the political or psychological dimensions of living with climate change. Readers can identify with protagonists. To some extent, the global community is represented in fictional everymen or everywomen. Or, often, it is through such characters that science is humanised and its role in combating climate change better understood.

Can cli-fi lead to change?

Could cli-fi affect how we think and act on climate change? The paradox is that the harder cli-fi tries, the less effective it is. Many writers want to inspire change, not insist on it: the line between literature and propaganda is one that most novelists respect. Literature invites us to inhabit other worlds and live other lives. Cli-fi at its best lets us travel to climate-changed worlds, to strive there alongside others and then to return armed with that experience.

In Paris, the UN will seek a global agreement on climate action for the first time in more than 20 years. There is plenty of climate change fiction out there to help provide the mental and psychological space to consider that action.

The Conversation

Adeline Johns-Putra, Reader in English Literature, University of Surrey

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.