By Barrett Sheridan

Last week, the world cheered a little when an Indian warship said it had encountered a Somali pirate “mother ship” in the Gulf of Aden and, after being fired upon, blew it to smithereens. International shippers needed a reason to celebrate. Earlier that week, Somali pirates had captured their biggest prize yet, a Saudi supertanker carrying $100 million of crude, and, with nearly a hundred attempted hijackings so far this year, were making waters around the Horn of Africa about as welcoming as a bed of nails.   

Well, put away the champagne glasses. CNN is now reporting that the sunken “mother ship” was actually a Thai fishing trawler and that, while pirates were in the process of commandeering it, the vessel still had 14 innocent fishermen onboard when it was sunk by the Indian navy. One of them, a Cambodian, spent six days adrift before being rescued by a passing ship. (One other is confirmed dead; the rest are still missing.) The sailor is now recovering in a Yemeni hospital, where he had the chance to inform the Indian navy of their mistake.

The event underscores the difficulty of tracking pirates in waters where they easily blend in with fishing trawlers or other private watercraft. “The bulk of Somali coastal dwellers are still fishermen,” says Peter Lehr, a lecturer in terrorism studies at Scotland’s University of St. Andrews. “They are now caught in the fray and being attacked by western warships. How can you divide a real fisherman and a pirate from one another? They use the same vessels.”

That means recent military operations in the region—the European Union and NATO now have forces there—might not be a very adequate defense against the pirates. So what line of defense is left? The ships themselves. Armed guards aren’t an option, because they’re too expensive for ship owners, and firefights are risky onboard ships carrying two million barrels of flammable crude oil. But there are alternatives. Hanging barbed wire around a ship’s perimeter is a simple way to dissuade would-be boarders. Electrified fences also work, but they’re out of the question on ships carrying volatile cargoes. The Long-Range Acoustic Device, or LRAD, has become popular after it effectively repelled an attack on a cruise ship in 2005; it blasts a deafening wall of sound at targets up to 300 meters away. Fire hoses also do the trick at shorter ranges. Even simply gunning the engines and picking up speed can deter pirates, who look for easy prey.

It’s worth trying anything to avoid being taken hostage. Although the Somali pirates, which are currently holding 300 hostages, treat their captives fairly well—they are, after all, worth a lot of money to them—negotiations can last weeks or months. The MV Faina, a Ukrainian ship carrying 33 Soviet-made tanks, was captured in late September and is still being held in the port of Eyl, in the Puntland region of Somalia. “These guys are very patient people,” says Stephen Askins, a maritime lawyer at London firm Ince & Co. “One guy may be having a bad day and he’ll say, ‘I want $5 million,’ and the next guy might say, ‘Well, I’m a bit more reasonable than that.’ It’s not like buying a car. It’s a very long, drawn out process.”

By Anna Nemtsova

Moscow, Russia -- As the financial crisis deepens, the Russian government has been amplifying its anti-American stance, and Robert Schlegel, the youngest deputy in the Russian Duma, is leading those efforts on the streets. On a recent day, Schlegel was standing along Garden Ring Avenue in Moscow, across from the U.S. Embassy, looking for a convenient place to set up a video screen. The screen will come in handy during the anti-American protest that Schlegel, in cooperation with the Nashi, a militantly pro-Kremlin youth group, will hold there on November 1st. He expects 15,000 young Russians to show up in Halloween costumes, holding pumpkins and candles and shouting slogans like "Stop your Big American Show!" and "Revolution Now!"
 
Schlegel lived most of his life in authoritarian Turkmenistan. A former activist for the Nashi, Schlegel is best known for organizing street protests and pranks targeting Putin's few domestic critics. Now he drives an Alfa Romeo, wears an expensive coat and goes on business trips to London and Germany. In other words, people like him are no longer marginal. In his role as a Duma deputy, Schlegel is responsible for Moscow's “information policy.” He’s founded a government-supported television channel for youth, “BL” (which stands for “Beautiful Life”), which has produced a video for the protest.

The video has high production values and makes a good effort to rile up viewers. It features a computer-generated cartoon of President Bush, who wears cowboy gear, slurps whiskey and revels in American power. At one point, the cartoon Bush says, "I control the world's oil, economy, wars, culture, science and information. I will tell you how we achieved that. I call it ‘A Big American Show.’” Graphic images of World War I, Nazi Germany, the Vietnam War, and Sept. 11 set the tone. As Schlegel says, “The American Empire Show, as we call it, is threatening Russia's stability. We young Russians have to put an end to it.”

And young Russian are heeding the call. As Russia grows richer and nationalism grows, the size of pro-Kremlin patriot youth movements crescendos. Nashi involves at least 200,000 activists. The Youth Guards have another 100,000 activists. The New People and Young Russia each attract tens of thousands of young patriots.

But of all youth movements, Stal, or Steel, a Nashi sub-movement, most fully reflects the new nationalism fostered by Vladimir Putin. “We are going to change the world from knowing nothing about Russia to respecting and even recognizing Russia as a new fashion,” says Nadezhda Tarasenko, 23, the leader of Stal. “It is important to consolidate around our leader, so nobody inside or outside the country can damage our stability and unity. One thousand activists in my movement are not afraid of using tough methods to stop America's influence on Russia.”

By Clare Premo, Paris

Is France an old-world Catholic country, a land of soaring cathedral spires and hallowed saints? Or is it an extremely secular state, grimly opposed to religious symbols in its schools, whether crucifixes, yarmulkes or veils? The truth, of course, is that it’s both. And in this week’s edition of Le Nouvel Observateur, scholar Olivier Roy, best known for his studies of militant Islam, uses France’s own experience to look at old time religion in the new world of the 21st century.

France, like the United States and much of the rest of the world, has seen an explosion of what’s often called revivalism and public religiosity. But according to Roy this is no “return to religion” in the traditional sense. He calls it a “mutation”  that is quite particular to our times. Hybrid faiths are emerging as the result of global rootlessness or, as Roy calls it, deculturation. By separating religions from their traditional cultural environments, Roy says, globalization actually encourages fundamentalism as people practicing their faith come to see themselves as embattled minorities. In the French case, the constant influx of North African and Africans has created a substantial population that is no longer grounded in the inherited traditions of the land where they now live or the one that they came from.

Sarah Palin may not have much experience with the rest of the world—she didn’t even hold a passport until well after her 40th birthday—but the rest of the world has had enough experience with her to know exactly what it thinks. Those thoughts range from mild bemusement to borderline horror. Much of the world, especially in Europe, has spent the last four years counting down the days until President Bush’s final hours in office, and for them, Palin’s folksy ways carry too many echoes of the sitting president. That sentiment doesn't rule out the possibility of a little satirical fun at Palin's expense, of course.

The sober-minded Brits find a perverse appeal in her plain-spoken ways. "She could never exist in the British political system," says London Times columnist and former political satirist Alice Miles. "Or we don't think she could. We're all men in suits saying very, very safe things." Her exoticism has obsessed many, including tennis coach Jack Garvey, who admits to staying up until two a.m. to catch the vice-presidential debate last week. "I found myself shouting at the screen, imploring someone to push her on a few issues," he says. "But everyone was too polite to challenge her. The idea of her facing off against Putin or being in any way near power is just frightening." Even her fashion choices offend the Isles; the Guardian dedicated an entire column to her Alaska-shaped earrings, which, "with terrifying literal-mindedness...express everything we need to know about her pride in her roots and her people."

Across the Atlantic, optimistic Republicans might have hoped for a bit of favorable coverage in Brazil, where evangelical Christians are the fastest-growing religious group. No luck. Palin's been lampooned in cartoons there, and Sergio Augusto, a columnist for the daily newspaper, O Estado de Sao Paulo, joked that "judging by appearances alone, [Palin] could have swapped politics for synchronized swimming or been singing covers of 'Pink Shoelaces.'" Win or lose, Palin should exercise sound judgment in determining how best to make use of her new passport.

With reporting from Barbie Nadeau in Italy, Tracy McNicoll in Paris, Sophie Grove in London and Mac Margolis in Brazil

Journalists everywhere are lamenting the loss of profits and influence at some of the world's best papers. They might take some solace in the fact that printed cartoons, at least, still matter. The intentionally provocative Danish cartoons that depicted the prophet Mohammed unflatteringly stirred the Muslim world into riots and rampage. The United States proved it wasn't immune to animation anxiety when a satirical New Yorker cover depicting Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama as a secret Muslim caused an eruption of protest. The latest offender is a South African cartoonist named Zapiro, the pen name of Jonathan Shapiro. His most recent work shows Jacob Zuma, the leader of the African National Congress, preparing to rape a woman symbolizing the justice system. His most avid supporters are seen holding the victim in place and egging on their leader. 

The cartoon, which appeared in Sunday's Times, has dominated the national discussion this week because of its close echoing of reality. Zuma has populist appeal -- he won the party leadership from president Thabo Mbeki last December by embracing leftist policies popular with the poor -- but is embroiled in conflict. In May, he was acquitted of raping a friend's HIV-positive daughter. To make matters worse, Zuma, who claimed the sex was consensual, admitted that he knew she had HIV, but neglected to use a condom anyway. He claimed that by taking a cold shower afterward, he didn't have to worry about contracting the virus.  

Zuma is now on trial for corruption charges stemming from a controversial 1999 arms deal; if he's convicted, he'll be forced to drop out of the presidential election, which he's expected to win. Many have alleged that Zuma and his supporters are using their powers to influence the outcome. The leader of the ANC's Youth League, Julius Malema, vowed this week to "eliminate any force" blocking Zuma's path to the presidency. Although Zuma urged restraint on his followers, protests in support of him turned violent on Wednesday, with a mob of 3,000 in Durban throwing water bombs at police, who responded with rubber bullets and widespread arrests. It was the fear of this kind of activity that led to Sunday's cartoon. "I am outraged at what Jacob Zuma is trying to do to the justice system and constitutional principles," Zapiro told a South African radio station. 

I had a wide-ranging interview last week at the Republican convention with Randy Scheunemann, John McCain’s director of foreign policy and national security. We had to slim down the text for the print magazine, but the director’s cut would have included a few other sections. Here are some noteworthy excerpts:

(1) I asked Scheunemann to respond to the critique that McCain helped egg Mikheil Saakashvili on.

It’s been suggested that Saakashvili, although he’s victim, felt emboldened to goad the Russians because of the support he heard from Washington and McCain. Is there any culpability on this side of the pond?

This is the classic blame-America first argument. I disagree with the premise of the question—that existing tensions in South Ossetia could suggest culpability on the part of the Georgians. The reality is that in cases of naked cross-border aggression, the aggressor will always seek to blame the victim. The Sudeten Germans had real grievances, too.Is Georgia at fault because it had the audacity to hope to join the NATO alliance? It has become clear in the aftermath of the Russian invasion that this wasn’t about what happened on August 6 in South Ossetia. This is about the nature of the democratic regime in Georgia that the Russians want to bring down. They’ve called Saakashvili a political corpse, they’ve refused to deal with him, and if the international community tolerates that behavior, it will only embolden the Russians in other places. That’s why the Poles, the Baltic states, and the Ukrainians are worried.

Put it this way: would the Russians have been as eager to take down Saakashvili on the day he was inaugurated as in the week before they invaded, by which point his rhetoric toward Russia had changed? And did the West help change his rhetoric?

Almost from the beginning of the Saakashvili administration, Putin’s Russia has sought to undermine his regime. Among the actions that the Russians have taken is cutting off energy supplies, cutting off electricity, not allowing the import of Georgian products—wine, water—and putting a trade embargo on Georgia, supporting the separatist regimes that were unrecognized until recently in Abkhazia and South Ossetia. They do not really recognize the independence of Georgia. They are trying to create a past historical era—not the Soviet Union, but the tsarist empire. Putin doesn’t want the 20th century, he wants the 19th century, and he’s been quite explicit about his goals. And to blame the victim for the actions of the aggressor shows a fundamental misunderstanding about what happens when aggression goes unpunished. It emboldens aggressors.

It's the sort of thing that almost makes you long for the days of the samurai. Those guys had swords, and strong beliefs, and, well, cojones. Certainly not like modern-day Japanese prime ministers. Prime Minister Shinzo Abe quit last year after less than a year on the job. And now his predecessor, Yasuo Fukuda,  announced his resignation last night here in Tokyo, also after a little less than a year.

It wasn't just that Fukuda left so quickly. Japan has gone through periods before when there was plenty of turnover among senior politicians, such as the 1990s, when no one had any bright ideas for pulling Japan out of its seemingly endless recession. Fukuda's departure was different. It was ignominious. Pitiful. Wimpy.

ST. PAUL, Minn. -- Senator John McCain—who has spent years making the rounds among VIPs and diplomats at the international conferences of Davos, Munich, and the others—is regarded elsewhere in the world as an old hand at foreign policy. In my reporting abroad, if people disagree with him they at least respect his experience. But what about Governor Sarah Palin, whom his campaign elevated Friday to a heartbeat away from the presidency? How does the campaign maintain that the world has nothing to fear?

Several lines of (sometimes contradictory) argument have been floating around at the Republican convention here to answer concerns about Palin. One is that she’s no less qualified than Barack Obama to deal with foreign affairs, since service on a Senate committee doesn’t count as experience. Another is that experience is about character more than knowledge—which staff, at any rate, can provide—and victory over the powerful Alaskan political machine shows the character she’ll bring to the presidency. A third line of thought is that judgment is more important than experience (this undermines McCain’s critique of Obama), and while she’s been around less than Obama, at least she supports the surge, which conventional wisdom now says worked. (Obama has danced around the question of its success.) Finally, and half-heartedly, Palin is said to know Russia, since Alaska is right next door. Here is a McCain spokesman struggling to make some of these points:

Senator Fred Thompson, the former senator and presidential hopeful—perceived for much of his campaign to be a less-than-strenuous student of politics and the world—tried some of these arguments on Newsweek editors at a lunch yesterday. And he made some concessions to Palin’s unfamiliarity with the world (she didn’t have a passport until two years ago): “No nominee I’ve ever heard of has had all the boxes checked. You talk about a ‘balanced ticket.’” But he did something I didn’t expect Republicans here to do: he set a high bar for Palin. Could she just answer a tricky debate question about foreign policy by saying she’s still learning? No.

"She has to be fully prepared and has to know the names of the foreign leaders," he said. "That’s rule number-one. She’s going to be tested in every conceivable way, and she’s got to be able to handle it. You should assume that smart people have some walking-around knowledge. She’s the governor of a large state; she’s not out hunting moose all the time. She’ll start at a better place than most people give her credit for. It’s not like teaching a toddler to play piano."

If Thompson is right, maybe Palin has something up her sleeve for the debate against Joe Biden everybody thinks she’s going to lose.

P.S. On the subject of veep picks, Thompson had some choice words about being on a congressional delegation abroad with the famously garrulous Joe Biden (“my friend”): “Traveling with Biden is one of the most unrewarding experiences you can have, because he monopolizes the conversation wherever you are, with whoever you’re speaking to, in whatever country you’re visiting.”

The last time Dick Cheney visited the former Soviet Union in May 2006, he spoke as the victor of the cold war–and extended an invitation to Russia to become a partner of the West, on the West’s terms. In Vilnius, Lithuania, he told an audience of the leaders of nine former Soviet republics or Warsaw Pact satellites that Russia was not "fated to be an enemy" and that it "can be a strategic partner and a trusted friend." But he urged that Russia follow the course embraced by its former subjects in the Soviet bloc. "Russia has a choice to make," he said.
 
In the aftermath of Georgia, it looks like Moscow has made its choice. But it was hardly the one Cheney proposed–rather than partnership, Russia has chosen head-on confrontation to reassert its authority over its former empire.

Next week, as Cheney visits Georgia, Azerbaijan and Ukraine he will face an audience very different from the one George Bush faced when he visited the Georgian capital in 2005. Then, Bush promised an adoring crowd that “the path of freedom you have chosen is not easy, but you will not travel it alone … Americans respect your courageous choice for liberty. And as you build a free and democratic Georgia, the American people will stand with you.” Yet as Russian tanks rolled into the Georgian cities of Gori, Poti and Zugdidi there was little that the United States could actually do to protect its erstwhile ally. A U.S. frigate delivered humanitarian aid–including tons of bottled water–to the Georgian port of Batumi last week. The U.S. also flew a 2,000-strong Georgian contingent that had been serving in Iraq back from Baghdad to Tbilisi. Russian troops dug in to positions deep in Georgian territory; NATO did little but issue verbal condemnation of Moscow’s actions. A NATO spokesman also denied reports that there was any increased naval presence in the Black Sea in response to a partial Russian blockade of the Georgian oil port of Poti, dashing Georgian hopes of a show of solidarity from NATO’s navies. Even Turkey, Georgia’s neighbor and closest regional ally, refused permission for large U.S. ships to transit the Bosporus for fear of provoking conflict with Moscow.
 
Clearly, Cheney will have some explaining to do. The vice president aims to send "a clear and simple message that the United States has a deep and abiding interest in the well being and security of this part of the world," according to John Hannah, Cheney’s assistant for national-security affairs. That’s hardly a clarion call to support Georgia.
 
Last time Cheney was in these parts, he invoked cold-war heroes Ronald Reagan, Pope John Paul II and the dissident leaders of the Soviet bloc who threw off "the stagnation of imperial dictatorship." This time he will doubtless praise Georgia’s mercurial President Mikheil Saakashvili and promise to stand by him as he faces the same imperial dictatorship, resurgent. But the acid test of the U.S.’s intentions will be whether the U.S. can succeed in advancing NATO membership for Ukraine and Georgia–something many European members, such as France and Germany, have balked at as a provocative step likely to push Russia into further aggression.
 
Cheney, usually fond of straight talking, will find himself caught in a web of nuance. Washington needs Russian cooperation to contain Iran and North Korea. Practically, there is little the U.S. can do to defend Georgia. Yet at the same time Georgia cannot be allowed to fall to Russian bullying. “We are living in historic times when freedom is advancing, from the Black Sea to the Caspian, and to the Persian Gulf and beyond,” Bush told Georgians in 2005. “As you watch free people gathering in squares like this across the world, waving their nations' flags and demanding their God-given rights, you can take pride in this fact: they have been inspired by your example and they take hope in your success.” If Georgia’s success was inspirational, then America’s failure to defend an ally may have an equal, but much sadder, resonance.

By Andrew Bast

This weekend witnessed a worrying twist of fate in Bolivia. Voters went to the polls in a national referendum on the country’s leadership, and President Evo Morales won in a landslide. He took more than sixty percent of the vote, higher even than the fifty-three percent he won in the 2005 presidential election. His enthusiasm was unguarded. "I dedicate this victory to all the revolutionaries in the world," he proclaimed in a nighttime victory speech from the balcony of his presidential palace in the capital of La Paz. He had reason to celebrate. The vote cemented his leadership and gave momentum to what could likely be his landmark accomplishment in office, rewriting the country’s constitution.

The twist is that voters not only cast ballots on the president, but on their local leaders as well, and a coterie of opposition governors in the country’s wealthy eastern provinces--Morales’ chief adversaries--also won in the referendum. For months they have been organizing against Morales. The departments of Santa Cruz, Tarija, Pando and Beni have all voted to become more autonomous from the central government, challenging Morales’ centralization of power in La Paz, his land reform initiative and his reengineering of the constitution. “The outcome of the vote in Bolivia is likely to only deepen the wounds between two fiercely antagonistic political projects,” says Michael Shifter of the Inter-American Dialogue. “Each side will be tempted to dig in even further.” How Morales plays his so-called revolutionary hand will very much determine Bolivia’s future. Morales would be wise to watch his autocratic ally, Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez, for what not to do; better to err on the side of democracy and demonstrate real skill as a politician.

Bolivia’s provinces, especially Tarija, are rich in natural gas, making the situation all the more volatile. After taking office, Morales nationalized the industry, straining tensions to the breaking point. Recently, autonomy protests in the provinces have turned violent, and the memories of the 2003 protests over the country’s natural gas reserves, which left eighty people dead, ousted President Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada and helped bring Morales to power, are still fresh. The issue is as raw as any in the country and could give rise to conflict once again.

A resolution seems distant. Morales has said publicly that he is prepared to talk with the governors, though no one knows what, if any, concessions he would be willing to make. From the outside, the U.S. State Department has said it "stands ready to assist" the discussions, despite its tormented relationship with Morales’ government. Spain, Bolivia’s once-colonial administrator, has also offered to help nudge talks along. The most promising pledge came this week from the Organization of American States, which is headed by the Chilean José Miguel Insulza and had a major success earlier this year when it passed a resolution in March to resolve the standoff between Hugo Chávez and Colombia. In Bolivia, negotiations are the next logical step, but with both sides boosted by big wins at the polls, when, where or on what terms are all big question marks rather than agenda items.

In addition to touting his success as another victory for the revolution, Morales has said that his presidency “starts a new Bolivian history.” Indeed, he is the first indigenous president to be elected in Latin America, and his proposed constitutional reforms would lend political representation to the long-disenfranchised indigenous majorities in the country. But his presidency is not a revolution. It is the result of votes and process and democracy, and with that recognition comes the undeniable fact that he cannot write off the past, no matter how much he may want to.

After a stinging defeat of his Venezuelan constitutional reforms in December, Morales’ staunch ally Hugo Chávez last week decided to instead issue his reforms by decree, subverting the democratic process. Morales would be wise to learn from his mentor, namely that such autocratic strategies make for bad so-called revolutions. Changing Bolivian history could mean bringing the country together, not fanning the flames of autonomy by strong-arming the opposition. Since they have popular support in their provinces, the governors’ grievances deserve a fair hearing, and if Morales has the political skill to bring them into the fold, 21st-century socialism in Bolivia could establish a sound democratic foundation. Considering the way that Chávez’s project is being left behind by less bellicose leaders like Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva in Brazil, Morales’ aim may be morally admirable, but his method will have to be more independently minded.

Refugees International researchers were surprised when they showed up in Taghi Naghi, an area in northwestern Afghanistan in June to assess one of the country’s 11 “land allocation schemes” for returning refugees. What they found differed sharply from the government’s plans for the hundreds of thousands of people returning from exile in Pakistan and Iran. Despite UN objections, the shelters had been built in the desert, an hour’s trip to the nearest city of Herat. A water pump was hooked up to a dry well, but an NGO trucking in water said their contract was going to run out soon after the visit. Only 12 families were occupying the more than 200 shelters that had been built, none of whom had any means of finding employment. According to one man living at Taghi Naghi, he might be forced to move his family to Herat despite being unable to pay its high city rents, since it was becoming increasingly difficult to feed his children.

The floundering Taghi Naghi project, one of 55 planned across Afghanistan, cost $2 million, and is just one example of how the refugee situation in Afghanistan is bad and growing worse, according to a Refugees International (RI) report published July 10. Since things started looking up for Afghanistan in 2002, the largest-ever refugee homecoming brought more than 5 million Afghan refugees back into the country, some of whom had been living in exile for three decades as their country weathered war with the Soviets, Taliban rule, and the NATO invasion. But over 3 million people are still stranded in exile, RI says, while many of those who have returned are ill-equipped to deal with Afghanistan’s harsh land and security crises. Deteriorating conditions in recent months due to a food crisis and an insurgency again on the rise have further complicated matters, while an impending Pakistani threat to bulldoze camps in their country by the end of 2009 has contributed an added time pressure to deal with the problems.

“The situation in Afghanistan is worsening, and we’re running the risk of losing the gains we’ve made in the past few years,” said RI advocate Patrick Duplat, who produced the report after traveling with a colleague for a month to meet with refugees in Pakistan and returnees in Afghanistan. “Of course, the situation in general in Afghanistan is quite dire. From 40 to 60 percent of the country is inaccessible, so all Afghans are vulnerable. But that being said, a large percentage of the population--5 million people--are particularly vulnerable.”
 
The report blames a lack of planning and coordination on the part of both Afghan President Hamid Karzai’s government and its international backers, who provide over 90 percent of the country’s budget. While billions of dollars have been invested in reconstruction projects in Afghanistan since 2001, too few have made their way to real development projects, RI contends; large-scale infrastructure and counter-insurgency efforts have sapped most of the funds.

As a result, RI is calling on donors to coordinate and fund their efforts in Afghanistan at a joint UN and Afghan conference in Kabul in November. “What we’d like to see is the returnees being integrated into the mainstream national programs,” said Duplat, cautioning that a failure to act could lead refugees to either try their luck at returning to Pakistan or swell the ranks of Afghanistan’s urban poor. A lack of resources is not the problem, he says; the international community just needs to put its money where its mouth is to integrate refugees without forcibly displacing them, whether they want to come back to Afghanistan or stay in Pakistan permanently.

By Jacopo Barigazzi

By Andrew Ehrenkranz

On the eve of a proposed million-man opposition protest rally in Kenya recently, a spokesman for the “Taliban” in Kenya called NEWSWEEK, asking to meet somewhere in Nairobi. The man, who called himself Abraham, said he had urgent news of an 11th hour meeting between Kikuyu and Luo tribal elders in a Nairobi market, where they were attempting to broker a truce before an all-out war broke out in the slums of Nairobi. He tried to convey the contours and severity of the situation for his Luo people, of whom the Taliban claim to be defending, but one simple question needed an answer: Of all the names in the world for a group of 100 percent Christian, mainly large African men from Nairobi, why use the name “Taliban”?

“People already knew the name,” he said of "Taliban", reminding me that his so-called volunteer Luo defense force has nothing to do with the Afghani Taliban, or for that matter, the brand of terrorism practiced by Islamic fundamentalists. “The Taliban defended their people and their way of life. So are we.”