In Uzbekistan, U.S. troops exist
somewhere beyond the checkpoint
By Joseph Giordono and Kendra Helmer, Stars and Stripes
Kendra Helmer / Stars and Stripes
A woman in Karshi, Uzbekistan, sells dumplings in the city's bazaar. |
KARSHI, Uzbekistan — Everyone in town knows where the Americans are.
The locals see them almost every day, speeding to and from the old Soviet air base
Khanabad in large vans, full of high-tech equipment and talking on satellite phones.
The Americans even frequent the town’s large open-air markets, the locals say,
coming out on weekends to buy produce and colorful, hand-woven textiles.
The Americans these people see, however, are not some of the estimated 1,000 U.S.
troops deployed here, but journalists — the pack of foreign media who periodically
descend on this depressed desert town previously known only for its cotton fields.
"Every day, some foreigners go by here. They ask us if we have seen the planes
flying overhead. They ask us if they were big or little and when we saw them," said
Sunat Tursonov, a 30-year-old mailman whose office is just yards away from a security
checkpoint on the only road to the inaccessible base.
Tursonov and his friends, most of whom work at a tiny store near the gate baking
flatbread in a stone oven, laugh about the growing pile of business cards given to them by
journalists who stop to ask questions.
The security checkpoint on this dusty road is as far as any of the journalists have
made it. It is a relatively modest operation, with a dozen unarmed, somber Uzbek soldiers
milling around a small guardhouse and a crooked metal bar blocking the road.
Each time a vehicle pulls up, an Uzbek military guard stops it, records the passport
information of its occupants, and turns them away. Locals who live down the road before
the next security checkpoint — there are a reported five in all — have special
papers that allow them through the gate.
Kendra Helmer / Stars and Stripes
Vendors at a Karshi, Uzbekistan, market, include this woman who sells blankets. |
When pressed as to why people are not allowed past the gate and whether any American
military officials could be reached, the guard tersely replied, "It would be a good
idea for you to leave immediately."
At least one person working for a U.S. television network reportedly was detained for
more than five hours before being released.
Sometime after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks in the United States, elements of the
10th Mountain Division from Fort Drum, N.Y., deployed to Uzbekistan.
Part of the Army’s specialized cold-weather force, the troops are in Uzbekistan to
provide humanitarian aid or search-and-rescue missions for operations in Afghanistan,
according to U.S. officials.
In a conference call arranged by the Pentagon last week, some of the soldiers described
a temporary base that has more comforts than anywhere in Karshi, population 250,000.
Though the soldiers sleep on cots in tents, they have a full dining facility, hot showers
and even a "tactical field exchange" where they can buy snacks and sundries.
In Karshi, five hours by car from Tashkent and three hours from the Afghan border, the
"finest" hotels proudly advertise the ability to provide hot water 24 hours a
day. Pit toilets are common, and many of the locals never had seen foreigners until
recently.
There are few buildings higher than a couple of stories, and a meal for four people at
the most famous local restaurant costs $5. Cows and sheep seem to wander the street at
will, and almost every corner has at least one child or old woman selling sunflower seeds
and smiling through gold teeth, considered the height of fashion.
Locals say they hear and see jets from the base at night, but never see anything during
the day.
"Not even a bird can fly over there," said one cab driver.
Another laughed about how he charged reporters from the British Broadcasting Company $5
for a ride that normally costs 50 cents.
But many locals are still afraid to discuss the presence of U.S. troops.
One owner of a cafe on the street leading to the base ushered journalists away out of
fear their presence would bring questions from the state secret police.
Government officials in the region, who just more than two weeks ago were more than
eager to speculate about the potential economic boon of a permanent U.S. base, were
nowhere to be found on a recent weekday. One official at the city administration referred
all questions to the regional governor’s office.
At the governor’s office, military guards insisted that everyone — including
the governor — was out working in the cotton fields.
"Come back after cotton season, and then you can talk to them," the guard
said.
Gulnora Adilova, 42, seemed more concerned with fanning bees and flies off of the cakes
she sells at a local bazaar than the presence of U.S. troops in her town.
"I don’t care whether there are American troops here. I only want
peace," she said. "I don’t want terrorists to take revenge on Uzbeks for us
allowing troops to be here. But the American troops may also protect us."
The checkpoint guard also said it didn’t matter who worked inside his checkpoint.
He had his orders.
"I don’t care who is on this base, whether it is the Soviets or the Taliban
or the Americans. I have a task not to let people on the base," he said.
"I wouldn’t even let the pope in."
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