← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
Nigeria's Lady Gaga
00:28:03
Reporters from around the world tell their stories. Steve Rosenberg visits Dagestan on...
Loading summary
Transcript12 lines
- [00:00]
BBC Announcer
You're listening to a download from the BBC. This is from our own correspondent. You can hear the version of the programme we make for the BBC World Service by visiting our site at BBConline. But here's the latest edition broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and introduced by Kate Ady.
- [00:16]
Narrator/Reporter
What can an American filmmaker teach a bunch of Hungarian police cadets about tackling racial prejudice? Also today, a privileged childhood surrounded by Allah's soldiers on earth. We hear what it's like growing up in an Egyptian military family, why passions are running high at the Big Bat petrol station in South Dakota, and a dizzying mix of guns, glamour and gaudy real estate in the Niger Delta. But first, one question has dominated recent headlines. Were the Boston bombers, so called lone wolves, or were they fulfilling the orders of a terrorist organisation? So far, Russia, America and even Islamic insurgents from the North Caucasus have suggested that the suspects, brothers Tamerlan and Djokhart San Nayef, acted on their own. But how did a regional conflict in Russia end up linked to the murders of three people? Watching a marathon nearly 6,000 miles away this week, US officials flew to Dagestan, a volatile, mainly Muslim region of southern Russia, to try to get some answers. Steve Rosenberg was also in the Dagestani capital, Mahachkala, conducting his own investigation.
- [01:30]
Steve Rosenberg
When Tsar Nicholas I was searching for somewhere to build a fortress on the eastern fringes of the Russian Empire, it's little wonder he chose what became known as Makhachkala. For this town is blessed with such natural beauty, it would catch the eye of any emperor. To one side are the Caucasus Mountains, their jagged peaks stabbing the sky like daggers. On the other is the Caspian Sea, with its beaches and its promenades. And with a little imagination, Makhachkala could be Russia's Saint Tropez. Except that St. Tropez doesn't have nearly as many problems as this town. The resort hotel I stayed in felt more like a last resort. There was no running water. Much of the building seemed to have been abandoned. At night, the door to our corridor was kept locked by hotel staff and we had no key. But then again, security is important in the Republic of Dagestan. This is Russia's most dangerous region. You can see that just by reading the local government newspaper. I bought a copy when I arrived. Making the news that day was the arrest of two men who tried to sell seven rocket launchers and 2,000 rounds of ammunition on the black market. The murder of a former politician outside a mosque, and a roadside bomb that narrowly missed killing a police chief. Shootings, explosions, assassinations occur with frightening regularity. In Dagestan, there are clashes between criminal gangs. There is also an ongoing Islamist insurgency and there are many factors fueling it, such as economic hardship and deep seated feelings of social injustice. Some here take up arms to try to tear the North Caucasus away from Moscow and to turn the entire region into an Islamic state. The Russian authorities maintain the violence is encouraged and funded by militants abroad. Which brings me to the explosions thousands of miles away in Boston and to the question, was Tamerlan Tsarnaev, the suspected mastermind of the Boston attacks, influenced or inspired in any way by Islamic militants in the North Caucuses? Was it here that he was drawn to radical Islam? And did he go on to radicalize his younger brother, Johar? Last year, Tamerlan travelled to Russia from the United States and spent six months in the North Caucasus, much of that time in Dagestan. Why did he come? What did he do here? And who did he meet? This week, journalists in Dagestan had the chance to put these questions to the parents of the two young men. Their mother, Zubaydat, and father, Anzor, gave an improvised press conference. At times it was a chaotic affair. There were tears and there was plenty of fist banging. Anzor said that Tamerlan had come to Dagestan in 2012 to to spend time with cousins and to apply for a Russian passport. And yet he never collected the document he'd applied for. The father denied that his son had met up with militants. Tamerlan, he said, had spent time helping him renovate a flat. Yes, Ansor said his son had prayed in a mosque, which is known for preaching a more fundamentalist form of Islam. But that doesn't make him a bomber. I asked Tamerlan's mother, Zubidat, what impression his six months in the volatile North Caucasus had made on her son. He was telling me about the killing. Zubedat recalled that the situation was strange here with people killing each other. But on his return to America, she maintains there was nothing to suggest he'd changed or become radicalized. He was no terrorist. She and her husband refuse to accept their sons are guilty. Vladimir Putin thinks they are. The same day as the parents news conference, live on Russian television. President Putin described Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev as criminals and called on Russia and the west to work more closely on the fight against terrorism. There are many unanswered questions. A direct link between the Boston bombings and Islamic militants in the North Caucasus has yet to be proven. But I wanted to find out how people in Dagestan have reacted to the attacks and to suggestions there may be a connection to their republic. I asked a taxi driver called Magomed. He'd been following the news and told me that the suspects had brought shame on the whole of the North Caucasus. But I was surprised to find that not everyone in Makhachkala was so interested. At an Internet cafe, I chatted to a teenager. What do I think about the Boston bombings? He said. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Here in Dagestan, we have our own Boston every day.
- [06:38]
Narrator/Reporter
Steve Rosenberg, now back in Moscow. The relationship between the Roma minority and the non Roma majority is a difficult one in many East European countries. Nowhere more than in Hungary, where the entry of a far right party into parliament has made talk of gypsy crime more acceptable. Recently, a prominent conservative commentator compared Roma to animals and said they shouldn't be allowed to exist. The government is often accused of turning a blind eye to such racism. There have been several initiatives to confront this prejudice, but it's a tough sell, as Nick Thorpe saw in one of the most combustible areas in the east of the country.
- [07:22]
Nick Thorpe
I'm not asking you to love the gypsies, the police colonel told the hall packed with police cadets. But we all have to live together, and for that the police must show tolerance and trust, not hatred and exclusion. The hall falls very quiet. We're touching the rawest, most exposed nerve of Hungarian society, and it twitches. More often than not, it hurts. A few moments before, I'd sounded out the opinions of the young policemen and women. In my experience, said one 70 or 80% of crimes are committed by Roma. So what do I say if I stop a man in my routine police work and he accuses me of picking on him because of his ethnic origin? The problem is not the prejudice of the majority, said another. It's the way the Roma hate us, the Hungarians. Another woman cadet took a different view. We have to be vigilant, she said, and watch out for all signs of intolerance or ethnic hatred on the Internet and in everyday life. An unusual morning at the big police academy in Miskolc, a City with 25% unemployment, an American activist, Patrice O', Neill, is here to share her experiences of fighting hate crime in the U.S. white supremacists targeting Afro Americans, Jews, Mexicans, Native Americans and gays, and how communities come together to say, not in our town could Hungarians reach out to each other like that. In the face of similar incidents, many people are not familiar with the concept of hate crime. The idea that the targeting of People because of the color of their skin, their religious belief or their sexual orientation is different to ordinary crime. Three years have passed since four men accused of the serial killing of six Roma people on ethnic grounds were arrested. Their trial is still underway, but many Hungarians compare those murders to those of white Hungarians by Roma in the past years. The killing of a white schoolteacher at Olos Lisca by a roma mob in 2006 was even cited by the prosecution as the incident which provoked the serial killing of the Roma. The murder of a Romanian handball player in Vesplaim in 2009 and the rape and murder of a police psychologist in Szeged in 2012 were also carried out by men of Roma origin. Only the most violent extremists actually spell it out. But somewhere in the debate in Hungary lurks the ugly they kill us, so we kill them. Tit for tat, the recipe for ethnic war. But their own experience can help Hungarians understand the difference between ordinary crime and hate crime. Like when people in Romania or Slovakia or Serbia are attacked just because they speak Hungarian in the street. Around the time the not in Our Town movement started in the United States, a young Hungarian couple's marriage in Cluj in Romania was stopped by the registrar because the young man dared to say yes in Hungarian. The Romanian authorities in Hargita and Kovasna counties, where Hungarians are the majority, are currently prosecuting local mayors who had the temerity to peacefully display a local Hungarian flag, the blue and yellow sacle emblem alongside the Romanian one. In Slovakia, around 40 ethnic Hungarians who applied for dual Hungarian citizenship have even been stripped of their Slovak citizenship. As a result, intolerance is alive and well in Eastern Europe. But it seems to me that the Hungarian public is open to the message Patrice brings. There are positive examples in Hungary, too, of community action, which defies the logic of ethnic division. A Roma policeman who feels valued for his professionalism. Musicians holding benefit concerts to heal the wounds opened by a far right march past a Roma community. The mother of that police psychologist who was raped and murdered. Appealing for calm. No one is telling you that there are no criminals among the Roma. A senior Hungarian policeman under Roma himself told the but please don't forget that there are very many who are not, who really suffer from those prejudices which exist in society. 56 hate crimes were reported in Hungary in 2011, compared to 55,000 in the United Kingdom. Either Hungary is an island of tolerance, or it might need a new approach.
- [12:09]
Narrator/Reporter
Nick Thorpe picking up tips on tolerance with Hungary's police cadets now from Boys in blue to men in khaki. The Egyptian military has long enjoyed considerable power and influence. For almost four decades it helped President Mubarak keep a tight grip on power. Then two years ago, it sensed the wind had changed and instead backed the revolution which overthrew him. It's the largest army in the Arab world and Africa, with nearly half a million personnel and another million reservists. It also runs a parallel economy, what some describe as a state within a state. Shai Mahalil grew up in an army family and is well aware of the love hate relationship Egyptians have with the men in uniform.
- [12:56]
Shaima Halil
It was always my dream to be in the army, lieutenant colonel Mustafa Salahdin told me with a ring of pride in his voice. He's tall, dark and in his mid-40s, and despite having left the armed forces almost 10 years ago, he still has that authoritative army walk. When I was young, I and most of my friends wanted to become army officers. He told me. Why? I asked. When you're in the army, they really teach you how to love Egypt. This proud tone when talking about the military is quite familiar to me. I heard it many times among my military family, especially when my grandfather spoke of his memories. You see this? Grandpa would say, pointing proudly at the shrapnel in his ring finger. I got this in the war, but he wouldn't tell me which one. Growing up in Egypt, you are taught from a very early age that the armed forces are the defenders of the nation. Allah soldiers on earth, as they are commonly called in Egypt, giving them that extra bit of divine credibility. My earliest memories are of my father picking me and my sister up from school in his uniform. He'd show up in his pressed olive army suit and his beret and of course the all important epaulettes with a golden star and eagle worn by lieutenant colonels like him. I remember how much respect my father commanded in our neighborhood. He was well liked, but I'm sure the uniform helped. He was a man of very few words and when he spoke he was assertive and firm. No negotiations on our curfew and no excuses if I was late even for a few minutes. The perfect candidate for the army, you could argue. Photographs of my father's graduation from military school and hand painted portraits of him and my grandfather in full uniform have always been on show in my grandparents front room. My grandmother would speak of how proud she was, but mainly she talked about how handsome her son was in uniform. And that pride isn't confined to my family's home. Nowhere is it better displayed than at the entrance of the 1973 War Museum in Cairo. As I walk in, I'm surrounded by old MIG fighter jets, tanks, various rockets and guns. Now the rest of the world doesn't see this war as a victory, but in Egypt there is no doubting that the army was triumphant. It's one of the main reasons why the military is held in such high regard. Inside the museum, a film is relaying the stories of the Egyptian army's heroism. It's filled with patriotic songs which go down very well with the local schoolboys who burst into claps and whistles. The Egyptian army was also seen as the savior of the 2011 revolution when it sided with the people and helped to oust President Hosni Mubarak. In the year and a half after the revolution, the Military Council's handling of day to day politics and the heavy handedness of the armed forces in dealing with clashes changed their image from saviors to oppressors. But Egyptians relationship with the military has always been complex, A mixture of respect and fear and after the events of the last two years, outright resentment at times. We love the military, we respect them, people would tell you. But then they say khalas, that's it. 60 years of military rule is enough. But when the security situation deteriorates and in Egypt that's been the case for two years now, the same people will expect the army to save the country. As a child I didn't know much about the army's vast economic ventures, the factories making everything from pasta to stoves, fridges to kitchen utensils. But I did know about their beach clubs. The one in Alexandria was not lush, but it was good enough for me and my sister. Many a weekend was filled. Playing around in the sand, swimming and watching my father while he was fishing. The army also had housing projects for officers, big apartment blocks in one of the city's prime areas. And when my father had his first heart attack, he was treated in Alexandria's biggest military hospital. It was the same hospital that he died in years later. For my father, the army was a constant presence in his life from birth until death. And for Egypt, the influence of the army goes far beyond borders and battlefields. It runs through the veins of everyday life here.
- [17:23]
Narrator/Reporter
Shaima Halil in his first term, President Barack Obama pledged to repair the fractious relationship between American Indians and the US government. He spoke about building a strong middle class in Indian country, about promoting businesses in reservations, and about welcoming every Native American into the American dream. But many from the so called first nations are sceptical given the long history of neglected promises and broken treaties. Now, a dispute over the site where soldiers carried out an infamous massacre more than a century ago has rekindled anger and distrust. Matt Wells has been hearing about the row over selling off a historic piece of South Dakota.
- [18:08]
Matt Wells
The family names say a lot about the fighting past of the great Sioux nation. Red Cloud catches the enemy, kills Straight and young man afraid of his horse. In their native Lakota language, they're more poetic. But the first names are often plucked from the pages of the Bible, a sign of the forced assimilation that's just one part of the Native American tragedy. The descendants of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, masters of the Great Plains and the millions of buffalo that roamed here, are now confined to America's poorest county, a beautiful but largely barren prairie near the badlands of South Dakota. When I arrived in the main town, at the Big Bat petrol station and cafe named after its founder, it took just a few minutes for dishevelled men to start approaching me. My daughter's sick. She needs treatment, said one smiling but desperate man. I'm running an organization for the youth. Just a few dollars, please, said another. On Pine Ridge Indian reservation, unemployment 80% and the average income is just over $6,000 a year. Infant mortality is five times the American average and average life expectancy for men is 48. For women it's 52. Diabetes is rampant. Behind the modern suffering, sometimes self administered through alcoholism and shocking suicide rates, there's historic pain. Pine Ridge's most famous landmark of Wounded Knee encapsulates all the anger and sorrow of America's original inhabitants. It's a symbol of a people who've been degraded and betrayed by successive governments in Washington. On the day of my visit, snow covered the gentle hilltop where the heavy machine guns were of the famous 7th Cavalry stood on December 29, 1890. On that day, up to 300 defenceless Indian men, women and children were massacred around Wounded Knee Creek, bringing an end to the so called Indian wars of resistance and revenge for the annihilation of U.S. general Custer and his men by the Sioux 14 years earlier. The hill became a mass grave for the frozen bodies of the dead. Marked by one small stone monument. The ravines around where many were corralled and shot are now for sale. That land is owned by a local businessman in his 70s, James Czechinski, who wants $3.9 million for it. He tells me it's only fair for a place of such significance and claims he was guided by an appraiser from The National Park Service, who suggested that $100,000 an acre would be a good start. Daczynski also wants compensation for the damage left by the other event that defines this sad place, the siege of wounded knee in 1973, which he claims left him destitute after the protesters holding out against federal agents destroyed his properties. Fed up with decades of broken treaties and promises, a band of mainly young Indians from across the country gathered in the village to make a stand against federal and local mismanagement. The American Indian movement was led by militant activists who were invited in, but then got embroiled in an armed standoff which dragged on for 71 days. It became a big international story and shone new light on the grievances of America's forgotten First Nations. Dzerzhinsky has given the tribe first refusal, saying there are other buyers lining up if they don't accept his offer by May 1. Yet the more people you ask about this land, the clearer it is that owning the sacred soil is just the beginning of a longer and more anguished discussion. Should there be a museum? Who, if anyone, should profit? Should even non Sioux be allowed to walk the hallowed ground? At the site, I had arranged to meet Leon Grasse, who had been left in charge of his two young grandchildren. Leon wants the place left alone, along with the spirits of his butchered ancestors. For Indians, the land is indivisible from themselves. I asked him when he thinks the wound will heal, and he sighed, it will probably be after my grandchildren are gone. It's going to be passed down from one generation to another.
- [22:31]
Narrator/Reporter
Mat Wells in South Dakota Whilst there's growing concern about fighting between the military and Islamist militants in northern Nigeria, the Niger Delta in the south is not immune from violence. Recently it's been plagued by kidnappings and a spate of attacks by militants. Earlier this month, 12 policemen were ambushed and killed by gunmen in one of the creeks of this oil rich region. But our correspondent in Nigeria, Will Ross, has just been invited to an event in one city there which was far more glitz and glamour than guns and oil.
- [23:07]
BBC Announcer
They strutted along the red carpet in bold dresses and stilt like stilettos, with heels so sharp they ought to be classified as dangerous weapons. Then they snapped into an assortment of poses for the cameras. One woman in a shimmering black dress, topped off with an enormous bright pink wig, looked as though she might have fallen head first into a candy floss machine. Lady Gaga, good of you to turn up, a comedian called out. Welcome to the African Movie Academy Awards. Known as the Ammas. Outside the theatre, an excitable crowd broke into energetic cheers whenever a recognisable face came close. Here in Nigeria, the actors and actresses are held in high esteem. Nollywood, as it's called, is a massive industry. And the DVDs with titles like BlackBerry, Babes and I want your wife sell out fast on the streets. From Monrovia to Mogadishu and Kampala to Cape Town, the event was held in the town of Yenagoa in Nigeria's Bielsa state, which is surrounded by the oil rich swamps and creeks of the Niger Delta. There's little to show for the billions of barrels that have been pumped out of the ground for the last 50 years. The fact that a few years ago British detectives found about a million pounds in cash in a sumptuous flat overlooking London, London's Hyde park gives you a clue as to where some of the oil money ended up. It was one of several homes belonging to a former governor of Bayelsa State. For the awards ceremony, filmmakers were flown in from across the continent. Compared to Hollywood and even India's Bollywood productions, these films were all done on shoestring budgets. But most were beautifully made and told powerful stories about life in Africa. There was one major flaw with the event. It went on and on and on. At 2 in the morning, an exhausted government official said to me, we're almost through. Just a few more awards to go. The eight hour extravaganza finally ended at four o' clock in the morning, by which time people barely had the energy to clap. Within a few hours, the stars had all left town. The red carpet was being rolled up and Yenagoa town was back to normal. After very little sleep, I pressed life's control alt delete keys to reboot the system and turned to the next reporting assignment. The stilettos, wigs and sequins were gone. I was now surrounded by black boots, camouflage and plenty of guns. The Niger Delta's quite safe, it's not under siege, Lt. Col. Nwachukwu told me as we boarded a military gunboat. But we are encouraging people to disassociate themselves from the criminal gangs that are out there, he added. A couple of weeks earlier, a police boat was ambushed and 11 officers were shot dead. Some people warned that it was a sign of bad times ahead for the troubled Delta. Militant gangs used to cause havoc in these creeks, kidnapping oil workers and sabotaging the oil company's facilities. Oil production was more than halved and so in order to keep the money flowing into the treasury, four Years ago, the government struck a deal with the militants. You give up the guns and we'll pay you every month was the offer. And it's clear that some of them have done extremely well out of it. On the left is the home of a former militant known as General Africa, a taxi driver told me as we drove through Yenagoa. Mansion is not the right word. It was as though somebody had randomly chosen a selection of movie stars homes in Beverly Hills and stuck them together on a site in the Niger Delta. In the garden of a less ostentatious but still comfortable home, several men sat around drinking whisky. It was ten o' clock in the morning. Meet some of my boys, my former fighters, general Reuben offered. Wearing a smart pink shirt, the generously built ex militant leader introduced me. This is Ottie. He was a commander and formidable fighter. And this is Ola, my aide de camp, he said as we shook hands. What do you want to do now? I asked Ola. International business. I want a big house, a massive one, he replied. General Ruben then lamented that his home was not as big as some of the mansions I'd seen around town. They promised us whatever type of house we wanted anywhere in Nigeria, he said. But I've just been offered a contract to provide security for an oil firm, he added. So very soon I hope to be able to build one. It's clear the dream to get rich quick and live large has taken root amongst these ex militants. And worryingly, some people are looking at the mushrooming mansions and seeing that crime pays. It's not surprising then that whilst Nollywood may be one of Nigeria's booming industries, so is kidnapping.
- [27:52]
Narrator/Reporter
Will Ross, still exhausted by his endless night in Nollywood and daytime, dash around the Delta, and that's all from us this week. Do join us for more global adventures next Saturday.