What we learned when we met Malala Yousafzai

While travelling through the Swat Valley in 2010, we interviewed the young school girl standing up to the Taliban.

We don't expect to switch on the news and see that someone we know has been shot, though this was our experience when we saw the face of young Malala Yousafzai on the television. During 2010, we had been to Pakistan to create a book that uncovered the difficulties of being a woman in Pakistan. We met and interviewed over 150 women and were fortunate that one was a fiery young girl named Malala.

While staying in Peshawar we heard about a school girl from the Swat Valley who was standing up to the Taliban and promoting education for women. This is an area of the world where women rarely walk the streets, definitely not alone and never uncovered. And as Malala's example shows, there is a genuine threat to your life if you dare to step outside the strict social fabric.

We left for Swat with some trepidation and against the advice of our local friends. Although the Taliban were officially ousted by the government, it was still an area known for extremist views and occasional lawless violence. It was supposedly safe but still foreigners were not allowed in. We took our chances; “let’s go and see for ourselves” was our policy. We went through the checkpoints without any fuss, almost too easily. We were left questioning how effective the military crackdown actually was.

As the mountain roads turned from tarmac to dust we passed by Buddhist relics, a reminder of Swat’s more enlightened times. Tragically many of the Stupas had been vandalised or destroyed by those determined to erase any non-Muslim aspect of Pakistan’s history. As we crossed the final mountain we were afforded a spectacular view of the valley, justifying its reputation for being a popular holiday destination. Only now it had the air of a dilapidated English seaside town; lots of hotels but no tourists.

We arrived in Mingora and were met by Malala's father Ziauddin Yousafzai, who unlike many Pakistani men, wasn’t in a hurry to talk about himself but preferred to give the centre stage to his daughter. On first appearances an ordinary twelve-year-old girl but when she spoke there was an aura of confidence that only comes from speaking the truth.

We asked Malala about life under Taliban rule and she replied that it was like being in the Stone Age, "everyone was afraid of the Taliban, a child or a young man, because they were so cruel, they just cut peoples’ throats or left them hanging in the square." The Taliban used the radio to spread their ideas, to appeal for money and canvas for new members. They took over the airwaves, imposed Sharia law onto the area and banned girls from attending school. They said any girl caught going to school would be kidnapped and married off to one of their young talibs.

Malala and her class had been the centre of resistance to the Taliban. This group of young girls lead by Malala were horrified at the idea of giving up their education at such a young age. While others were so traumatised by the violence they had witnessed that they stopped attending, Malala’s group continued schooling in secret. They were so afraid of being stopped and questioned by the Taliban, that they had to make their way to school wearing plain clothes and hiding their books.

We were taken to the school where the students gave a stiff formal greeting before giving way to fits of shy giggles. There we talked to the girls about their experiences under Taliban rule and Malala gave an impassioned speech about the importance of education for women.

Painted on her wrist was a small Pakistani flag and it became clear to us that this girl was speaking from a place filled with nothing but love for her country. She says that before the Taliban she wanted to be a doctor, but after witnessing the ineffectual nature of her country’s politicians, she now wants to become a spokeswoman for her nation.

As a child, she would have been excused for giving up on such a dream once the imminent danger had passed. Despite the disappearance of media interest in the Swat Valley, Malala has continued to promote freedom as proven by her National Peace Award.

Malala’s father is her inspiration. Throughout Taliban rule he also worked tirelessly, a lone voice promoting equality and education for women. He is an example of conviction and bravery, qualities that have been adopted by his daughter. She would make most fathers proud but these aren’t ordinary circumstances.  It is worth questioning the wisdom behind encouraging Malala to speak openly against the Taliban. Though it is disheartening to think that the only way to have avoided this devastating act, would have been to silence a young girl brave enough to carry the hopes of every woman in her country.

When Malala Yousafai spoke "there was an aura of confidence that only comes from speaking the truth." Photograph: Geoff Brokate and Kaye Martindale.
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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war