OPIUM FARMERS REJOICE AT DEFEAT OF THE TALIBAN

War on Terrorism: Opium

Of the many Afghans whose lives were blighted by the Taliban, there
are few victims more pathetic than the likes of Mohammed Khatib. He
survives - just about - by farming, of a kind that has scarcely
changed in centuries. Oxen pull his plough, a wooden plank studded
with nails. He has to give more than two-thirds of his harvest to the
owner of the land he farms and if there are floods or drought he may
not be able to support his family.

It was always a meagre existence, but then the Taliban reduced him to
complete destitution. "They would not let us plant and in this land
it is the only way to make money,'' said Mr Khatib. "We have nothing
here. Last night I did not even have oil for my family to cook.''

But now there is hope, for the Taliban have gone and Mr Khatib and
the farmers of Surkhrud are free to grow the crop that provides them
with the closest thing to a reasonable existence - the opium poppy.

Yesterday morning, like hundreds of farmers all over the eastern
province of Nangarhar, he stood in his fields preparing the ground
for the tiny yellow seeds that will grow into poppies. Next spring,
the petals will fall away, exposing a seed head, and when the time is
right Mr Khatib's helpers will make narrow vertical razor cuts in
them. Out of these will leak a sap that dries to a sticky residue,
opium, the raw material of heroin.

Mr Khatib said: "We were so shocked when the Taliban announced their
ban on growing poppies, but now we hope for a good harvest ... God
willing, our troubles will be solved."

In the West, the drugs problem is easily seen as a matter of black
and white, a struggle between evil criminal syndicates intent on
making money out of the misery of addicts and the righteous forces of
the "war on drugs''. But in Afghanistan, the problem is revealed for
what it is - an economic and political conundrum, rich in ironies and
grey areas. Far from being evil exploiters, the poppy farmers are
victims of cruel poverty. And, most remarkable of all, the movement
that has done most to deal with the drugs problem is not a Western
government or an anti-drugs campaign, but the reviled Taliban regime.

Afghanistan used to be the world's biggest source of opium: 75 per
cent of the world's heroin originated in the country and the scale of
poppy cultivation was staggering. Najib Ullah, head of the United
Nations Drugs Control Programme (UNDCP) in the eastern city of
Jalalabad, said: "There were places in Helmand province where you saw
nothing but poppies.''

Last year, the country produced 3,276 tonnes of raw opium, most of it
from Helmand and the Nangarhar area around Jalalabad. This year,
according to a recently published survey by the UNDCP, production
plunged to 185 tonnes. In the course of a single year, production of
this most lucrative of crops had fallen by 94 per cent. There was one
reason: in July last year, the Taliban leader, Mullah Mohammed Omar,
who had tolerated the opium trade for the first five years of his
regime, announced a ban on poppy cultivation.

Even now, the reasons are mysterious. One theory is that Mullah Omar
believed, mistakenly, that if he crushed the opium trade the
international community would reward him with diplomatic recognition
of his government and a seat at the United Nations. The more cynical
theory - unproven, but widely retailed - is that Taliban leaders had
amassed vast stocks of opium and wished to restrict the supply to
drive up the price. Whatever the reason, the ban was enforced with a
ruthlessness that only a government such as the Taliban could muster.
Poppy fields were set alight; transgressors were jailed. Mr Khatib
said: "We were absolutely prevented from planting and growing.''

To understand the impact of the ban, consider the economics of
farming in Afghanistan. For a crop of wheat, which Mr Khatib was
forced to sow last year, a farmer can make about 7p a kilogram. Even
before the ban drove up prices, raw opium sold for between =A322 and
=A345 a kilogram.

The seeds that Mr Khatib and his brother need to sow their half-acre
field cost =A31; when they sell their harvest, they expect to make
=A36,700. "We grow the opium only because we have no money,'' said Mr
Khatib's brother, Ahmad Zia. "If we had some other source of income -
if there was some factory established, or road construction - then we
wouldn't grow opium at all.''

But the chances of a burst of industrial investment in today's
Afghanistan are slim, and everyone knows it. The opium farmers show
no embarrassment about their crop, and this is the next irony of the
Afghan drug trade: the people who cultivate the drug have little
understanding of its effects.

Afghanistan has many smokers of hashish, which also flourishes here,
but opium and heroin use is almost unknown. Asked if he has ever
tried the opium he has grown, Mr Khatib replied: "No way. It's bad
for your health and it's also against our religion.'' Who uses his
opium? "People in Pakistan,'' he answered. What about Europe and
America? "I am a poor man and I have never been to those countries,
so I don't know.''

Already there are signs that the opium price is about to come down,
and this is the final irony: the defeat of the Taliban, a victory for
the war on terrorism, may bring with it a wretched defeat in the war
against drugs.