Capital Capers in Kabul
Some Afghans find humor amid corruption and hardships
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN—At the offices of Afghanistan's own version of Comedy Central's The Daily Show, producers review video clips in an editing booth where plywood walls are soundproofed with what appear to be old exercise mats. But if the studio's low-key setup belies the show's impact as one of the most popular programs on Afghan television, its metal detectors and armed guards do not. To get into the building, a visitor faces security that is tighter than at most government ministries.
The program's creators have been applauded in Kabul's produce markets—and seen a company car riddled with bullets by disgruntled supporters of politicos whom the show regularly skewers. The program's name can be roughly translated as "Alarm Bell," and it mirrors the growing resentments of many Kabul residents. Through skits and video clips, the show offers up rare accountability in a city where corruption runs rampant and scarce municipal services remain a constant source of frustration.
The show mocks politicians for ridiculous behavior and international organizations for waste. One recent segment showed real video of a fight that broke out among parliamentarians who began beaning each other with plastic water bottles. It has taken aim at NATO, too, making fun of military commanders who rarely leave their fortified compounds without large armored convoys and filming soldiers washing their trucks with precious bottled water. This is no small waste in a city where fewer than one fifth of residents have water piped into their homes. One of the most popular commercials on television is for the "LifeStraw," a filtering device costing $10 (roughly one week's salary for many Afghans) used for safely sipping water from even the filthiest puddles.
Accountability. But among the show's most popular targets are politicians on the take. In response, one of the few productive acts of parliament has been an attempt to push through more restrictive media laws. In the meantime, the program continues to point out, for example, costly but shoddy construction projects, overseen by ministers with new homes in Dubai. "Talking about corruption is very important," says Saad Mohseni, who runs Tolo TV, the popular station that produces the show. "Part of the frustration people have is that no one has been held accountable for anything."
The frustration is growing as the city's population has continued to soar, from an estimated 1 million in 2001 to some 4 million today. Refugees have fled war-torn regions in the east and south, seeking security in the capital. This has strained services in a city where there is no public sewage system and 9 out of 10 residents live on unpaved streets.
Security, too, remains a deep worry as the Taliban last month promised to step up suicide bombings. There remains little aid for the thousands of beggars in the city, many of whom are disabled or mentally ill-people who are likely Taliban recruits for such attacks. Tolo TV recently aired footage of one mentally disabled would-be bomber who said the Taliban had given him detailed instructions on where he could go to collect his payment after he completed his bombing mission.
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