How insecurity in Afghanistan is constraining the Red Cross
| Kabul, Afghanistan
The International Committee of the Red Cross, which has been in Afghanistan since 1987, generally runs toward disaster and conflict, not away from them.
Najmudin Helal is just one symbol of the ICRC鈥檚 ability to transform lives broken by war in Afghanistan. In 1988, he arrived at the ICRC鈥檚 newly opened orthopedic center in Kabul for treatment after having lost both his legs to a landmine years before.
In the three decades since, Afghanistan has been convulsed by a string of wars and chronic insecurity; relief workers have been targeted by killings and kidnappings; and Mr. Helal became the director of the Kabul center.
Today, however, the ICRC鈥檚 capacity is diminishing, as new levels of insecurity prompt the organization鈥檚 most significant downsizing here in a generation. A Taliban insurgency is encroaching upon Kabul; an emergent Islamic State franchise is conducting attacks; and militias are fragmenting, all blurring the lines for relief workers between what is safe and what is not.
For years, the organization found security for its workers in its visibility to the Afghan public. The more varied and broadly distributed its services, the more assured the ICRC workers were that the public welcomed them.
鈥淥ur security is not guaranteed by high blast walls, or by armed people,鈥� says Monica Zanarelli, the ICRC head of delegation in Kabul. 鈥淥ur security concept is all around what we deliver, in terms of services, the relevance of it, and the acceptance we get in return.鈥�
But the loss of seven ICRC staff in three incidents in 2017 鈥撀爄ncluding the inexplicable gunning down of a Spanish physiotherapist by one of her own patients inside the ICRC orthopedic center in Mazar-e-Sharif 鈥撀爈ed the organization to announce in October that it would 鈥渄rastically reduce鈥� its work, especially in northern Afghanistan.
Balancing risk and need
That decision illustrates the increasing challenge of balancing the risk of relief work in Afghanistan against the vast scale of the need, even for a humanitarian player that has become an organic part of Afghanistan鈥檚 health infrastructure.
鈥淓motionally we were very, very sad that something like that happened. We were all shocked,鈥� Helal says of the murder of Lorena Enebral Perez by a polio patient she had been helping last September. The ICRC has closed two offices, scaled down the Mazar-e-Sharif orthopedic center, and stopped work in less-secure rural areas. As it assesses its previous assumptions that higher visibility meant more safety, no new security paradigm has presented itself other than to hunker down for now and hope the situation improves.
The Kabul center 鈥� one of seven ICRC orthopedic centers nationwide 鈥� also closed for a week immediately after the shooting.
鈥淲e could see how the people were suffering. People were coming to the gate and asking, 鈥榃hen will you open?鈥� and 鈥楬ow it can be?鈥� 鈥� recalls Helal.
鈥淚 am telling you not as an ICRC worker, but on behalf of the disabled population of the country, that what they get at ICRC centers around the country is unique,鈥� adds Helal. 鈥淚t鈥檚 always positive, they are very happy.鈥�
The numbers indicate how, in Afghanistan鈥檚 vast field of disability and rehabilitation, the ICRC accounts for roughly 50 percent of activities, which include micro-loans, job placement, food distribution, and even home-schooling, to maximize chances of social integration for those with life-altering war injuries and diseases.
Thousands of artificial limbs each year
The ICRC annually produces more than 19,000 artificial legs and arms and other prosthetic devices in Afghanistan, and registers more than 10,000 new patients each year, for a total of about 160,000 across the country.
In the past, that has served as vital for ICRC workers鈥� security, because Afghans knew of and respected ICRC efforts to help them in even the most remote areas.
If 鈥渙ur acceptance is not recognized for what we do, that鈥檚 where we become weak. We are a soft target like any other humanitarian actor in this country,鈥� says Ms. Zanarelli.
This accounts for the surprise at being targeted by a patient, she says, 鈥渋n a place where we thought our acceptance was at the maximum possible. Of course we are vulnerable in those situations鈥�. We have still to be accessible to people, otherwise we are not relevant anymore.鈥�
Security measures have been stepped up, with metal detection wands and pat-down checks at ICRC facilities. But they are of limited value when so many patients have metal inside them already. At the same time, the military and political situation fluctuates daily.
On top of that, relief agencies on the ground during the past two years, especially, have also seen lines blur as militias in northern Afghanistan have fragmented, says Zanarelli: 鈥淭here are more gray zones than there were in the past, gray zones for everyone, in the sense of, 鈥榃ho is in charge of what?鈥� 鈥�
Seeking a 'responsible withdrawal'
Still, the ICRC is working on what it calls a 鈥渞esponsible withdrawal鈥� from where it is pulling back, handing over part of the workload to the local Afghan Red Crescent, for example, and other relief agencies, so the majority of ICRC beneficiaries will not be affected.
That is important because many of the cases the ICRC takes on 鈥� such as the 27,000 patients registered at the orthopedic center in Mazar-e-Sharif, which the ICRC is looking for others to take over 鈥� require years of commitment.
The ICRC decision to reduce its footprint was especially tough for an organization that, for example, was the only relief agency that kept working in Kigali during Rwanda鈥檚 1994 genocide. It kept a hospital open, despite horrific carnage that left 800,000 dead in 100 days.
But the ICRC has also shut down before, as it closed its 23-year-old operations in Iraq after its Baghdad headquarters was bombed in 2003. In Afghanistan in 2013, the ICRC also shut down its office in Jalalabad after a suicide bomb attack, and trimmed operations in the east of the country, gradually moving back from 2015.
The latest attacks saw one ICRC staff member abducted in Kunduz province in December 2016 and held for four weeks. In February 2017, six ICRC Afghan staff were killed when their convoy was ambushed, and two abducted and held for four months, released just days before the killing of the physiotherapist.
Alarm for other relief agencies
The ICRC decision served as an alarm for other humanitarian agencies such as the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC), which also has a large footprint in Afghanistan and provides emergency response with shelter, food, and water.
The attacks on the ICRC were 鈥渞eally unfortunate; cumulatively I think they had to make that decision to scale down, particularly in northern Afghanistan,鈥� says William Carter, the NRC country director in Kabul.
鈥淚n some ways it means that we need to do a little bit more, to help stem some quite important gaps up there,鈥� says Mr. Carter. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a high-risk area, so we definitely don鈥檛 think we are invulnerable鈥�. If the ICRC can鈥檛 work, it鈥檚 one of the standard-bearers of humanitarian organizations, so it鈥檚 pressure on us and scrutiny to look at whether it鈥檚 worth it鈥hether we feel our staff is safe enough.鈥�
The ICRC may be a bellwether for other relief agencies, but it is also 鈥渋n its DNA鈥� say one former European staffer, to one day expand again in Afghanistan, where needs are so great.
Helal doesn鈥檛 doubt it, as he looks at the transformation of his own life by the ICRC 鈥� and those of so many other Afghan amputees.
鈥淲hen I see a patient come to us crawling, and leaving us by walking, it gives me energy,鈥� says Helal.
