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From Our Own Correspondent
'We Dazed Them!'
00:27:51
Around the world in less than half an hour! In this edition: euphoria in the Nigerian...
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- [00:00]
Kate Ady
You have downloaded from our own correspondent. This edition is the latest one broadcast on BBC Radio 4. And here to introduce it is Kate Ady.
- [00:09]
Main Presenter
Hello. Today the Nigerian military says Boko Haram's in retreat. We're out with the troops, seeing if the jihadis really are on the run. In Israel, Benjamin Netanyahu sets about forming a new coalition government. Talking peace with the Palestinians is not on the agenda. The American states lining up against President Obama's immigration plans. The silent majorities not silent anymore, it seems. And China's kingdom of the little people, Is it exploiting the short of stature or providing them with somewhere they can feel safe and even fall in love? But first, Pakistan's interior minister has appealed to the country's Christian minority not to take the law into their own hands. After violent scenes in Lahore at the weekend, thousands of police sealed off the city's biggest Christian neighborhood, Yohanabad, after two churches were bombed, apparently by a Taliban splinter group. Seventeen people were killed. Pakistan has only a small Christian minority, many of whom are among the country's poorest people. Some are descendants of those who converted from Hinduism under the British Raj. Shaima Khalil tells us they're regularly targeted by extremists and feel abandoned by their government.
- [01:25]
Shaima Khalil
You could feel the tension in the Yohannabad district long before you reached it. The day after two churches were bombed during Sunday mass. The main street leading up to it was lined with armed right police. Young men with black armbands and carrying sticks in their hands were also patrolling the area, searching those going into the neighborhood. The bus station nearby had been badly damaged. The glass in its windows shattered. Shortly after the bombings, angry crowds had taken to the streets. A mob beat two people and burned them to death because they suspected them of having something to do with the attacks. Pakistan's interior minister described both the church bombings and the lynchings as acts of terrorism. Those responsible, he said, would be brought to justice. As I walked into Yohanabad, people were marching through the streets carrying placards saying, stop killing Christians. They were heading for the two churches, St. John's and Christ Church, where the explosions had happened. Groups of women and children carried big wooden crosses. Men chanted hallelujah and we want justice. The mood was somber. In the courtyard outside St. John's Church, you could see the damage caused by the blast. The St. John's bit of the title on the arch at the church entrance was destroyed. The meta letters twisted. This is where suicide bomber apparently blew himself up after being stopped by a security guard on the not very high walls surrounding the church. Young men stood with sticks in their hands, a rather desperate attempt to beef up security in the area. Mourners had gathered in the courtyard to pray for lost loved ones. Their tears spoke more about the impact of the bombings than the mangled pieces of metal around them. Hundreds had come to take part in the special service, the priest's calls for strength and resilience occasionally interrupted by shouts of approval from the congregation. But alongside the grief here, there was a great deal of anger. We may be small in number, one man said, speaking of Pakistan's Christian community, but our faith is strong. How many of us are you going to kill? He he asked. Christians make up fewer than 2% of Pakistan's overwhelmingly Muslim population. The riots which followed the bombings were a rare show of fury among a community that has felt vulnerable for years. But despite calls for calm by the interior minister, many Christians here tell you that the law has never really been on their side. It's not just these incidents. Look at the blasphemy law, harun Sulaiman of the All Pakistan Minority alliance told me. A Christian couple were burned alive because they were accused of blasphemy. What did the government do? Who was arrested? When justice is not being served, he said, people get angry and frustrated. Sister Arsene Anthony, a nun at St. John's Church, was at the scene shortly after the bombings. She spoke of the horror at her church and told me this was by no means an isolated occurrence. There have been many incidents, she said, some much worse than this. Why is this happening to Christians? She asked. In 2013, 87 people were killed in Peshawar when the All Saints Church there was bombed. Many questions were raised then as well about the level of protection Christians were getting and how exposed their places of worship were. We are Pakistanis, sister Arsene said. We are part of this country, but the way we're treated like second class citizens is beyond our understanding. In the house just opposite St. John's Church, Ishraq, her husband Michael, and their three children stood on the roof watching as hundreds made their way in to take part in the service. Their children held up banners saying, we need protection. We want peace for all Christians. Ishraq, who's a nurse in one of Lahore's hospitals, talked about the bombing. I just come back from my shift that morning. The children were having breakfast and getting ready to go to mass, she said. We heard the bang and the children were so scared. I ran up to see what was happening. I saw body parts, arms, pieces of flesh on my roof. She said, her voice quivering. I'd heard about attacks on Christians before, but now I've seen it with my own eyes. We were saved, but we're still afraid. We need the government to protect us. Ishraq's daughter, Deborah, was standing next to us. Tell us what you prayed for, ishraq told her. I want to be safe, the nine year old said, because I'm now scared to go to church.
- [06:13]
Main Presenter
Shaima Khalil in Lahore Benjamin Netanyahu, after his stunning victory at the polls this week, has been talking to the right wing and religious party leaders whose support he needs to form a coalition government in Israel. He says he's confident he can form that administration within the next two or three weeks. It'll be his fourth term in office and represents a big turnaround in his fortunes. After opinion polls suggested he might lose the election, Mr. Netanyahu had placed security at the forefront of his campaign, promising Israel wouldn't face threats from a nuclear Iran. And Kevin Connolly says his victory means a peace deal with the Palestinians is now more remote than ever.
- [06:56]
Kevin Connolly
There is an old love song that captures the wistful essence of romance in a few snatched images, a waiter whistling as the last bar closes and the sigh of midnight trains in empty stations. All political reporters have their own selection of sights and sounds that capture the intense but fleeting dramas of election night gatherings. They'd include the scrape and rattle of grumpy security guards stacking the crowd control barriers, which are no longer needed, or a lone drunken voice in a deserted car park still croaking out a victory chant on his own when his friends have gone home. The faithful of the Likud movement had gathered in nervous mood in Tel Aviv, worried that the electoral magic touch of their leader, Benjamin Netanyahu, had deserted him. They all remember the joke in a satirical TV program here in which a fortune teller warns a young Netanyahu that he's cursed to remain prime minister of Israel forever. So when opinion polls showed him apparently trailing the Left of centre opposition towards the end of the campaign, they were badly rattled. When rumours began to spread that exit polls were going to show that things were not as bad as they feared, spirits began to rise. And so did the noise level. By the time the loyalists of Likud realized they'd won, the party anthems were being pumped out at a level that would have alarmed the Rolling Stones. The celebrations born not just from a mood of triumph but from simple relief. Likud was finishing ahead after appearing to be on the point of defeat. Now the landscape of Israeli Party politics is crowded and confusing, but the overall centre of gravity lies somewhere to the right. So while no one ever wins an outright majority in Parliament, Likud has plenty of natural partners to help it form a government. The precise composition of that coalition won't be certain for some time to come. But Mr. Netanyahu now has the chance to replace a rather fractious and recalcitrant old coalition with a new one, which should prove more manageable. Foreign governments, of course, far too well behave to interfere in the internal politics of a democratic state. But the outside world tends to view Israeli politics through the prism of the state, of the peace process with the Palestinians. Outsiders will want to know what chance there is now of convening talks and what chance they might have of succeeding if they could be convened. The truth is, that process was already feeling pretty moribund. There's been no movement since an American brokered attempt at negotiations fizzled out last year. Now it feels more moribund still. The opposition leader, Itzhak Herzog, had talked of an openness to renewed contact with the Palestinians. The Mr. Netanyahu rallied the right in Israel towards the end of his campaign with a promise to block the creation of a Palestinian state. He says with groups like ISIS on the rise, the Middle east is becoming too dangerous for Israel to agree to such a change. His critics at home and abroad may feel it's a change he wouldn't have welcomed, whatever the prevailing circumstances in the Middle East. Now, the best diplomats have a genius for spotting room for maneuvering where others can see no room at all. But it's hard to see how they will deal with a Mr. Netanyahu who will feel he's been elected with a mandate to not even consider Palestinian statehood. Israeli coalitions can take a long time to assemble, and we will have to wait to see first if Mr. Netanyahu is confirmed in a fourth term as prime minister, and then to see who will serve in his government. But it feels like the odds are stacked against any resumption of a peace process with the Palestinians. We will see. Benjamin Netanyahu is now the second longest serving prime minister in the history of Israel. If things continue to go his way, he may find himself closing in on the record of David Ben Gurion, the father of the state. For political reporters, not one of whom, including me, predicted the outcome of this election, there's another question, too. How long will Israel's next government last? If Mr. Netanyahu gets the tricky equation of coalition building right, it may be quite a while before we gather at another election count here. So we may have to wait a long time before we listen again to the scrape and rattle of those security barriers in another election headquarters and the lonely chanting the last activist to leave the building.
- [11:36]
Main Presenter
Kevin Connolly In Jerusalem, the Nigerian military is claiming substantial successes in its campaign against the jihadis of Boko Haram. The Islamist fighters, they say, have now largely been removed from three states in the northeast of the country. This huge area has been at the center of the six year long Boko Haram insurgency, which has killed more than 13,000 people and displaced a million and a half others. The military's achievements have come just two weeks before Nigerians vote in a postponed presidential and parliamentary election. Tomi Aladipo has been out with the army to some of the scenes of battle.
- [12:15]
Tomi Aladipo
Colonel Osman Yusuf is the commander of the 27th Task Force Brigade. He's a tall man, always armed with a soundbite, either about the success of his soldiers or about the shortcomings of Boko Haram. They're all small boys, he says of the jihadi fighters. When we catch them, we ask how old they are and they say 21, 23. It's been a difficult six years for the Nigerian military. A once prestigious force has been made to look amateur, even cowardly, by Boko Haram, the rebel group which has left a trail of destruction across northeastern Nigeria and beyond. But now the army has been pushing the jihadi fighters out of the major towns. Read any press statement from the defense headquarters, and the word gallant is likely to appear several times in reference to the soldiers. So for the first time in years, we're invited on a military tour of the region. We fly in helicopters with gun totting commandos sitting with their legs hanging out of the open doors. Herds of cattle run for cover under the nearest trees, if they can find any, in these largely arid plains. As we whizz past only a few meters overhead, their herdsmen, mainly nomadic fulanese, look up as the buzzing helicopters bank left and right across the sky like insects. When we land, the destruction we see is staggering. The Boko Haram campaign has been ruthless. We lose count of burnt buildings, mangled motorcycles and decomposing dead bodies in some towns. Baga was one of the worst hit. The insurgents began their attack at a base of the multinational joint task force, where soldiers from Nigeria and its neighbors work together to police their borders. One of them is Aliyu, a junior ranking officer in the Nigerian army. Before sunrise on the 3rd of January, he tells me, the jihadi surrounded the base and attacked Aliu and his colleagues were overwhelmed. He jumped into a pickup truck and escaped with a few others. I only got away by the special grace of God, he says. In every town we visit, we're amongst an army convoy of more than a dozen vehicles packed with soldiers. In Yobe town. Colonel Yusuf joins us in the reporter's minivan and tells us, oh, if you put me alone in a room with eight of those Boko Haram, I can finish them all. Our driver races across a dusty track as if he was a contender in a motor rally. The bumps send us passengers bouncing, our heads almost smacking against the minivan ceiling before we fall down again onto the hard seats. The insurgents have destroyed a bridge on our way to Bunyadi, another town Boko Haram has raided over and over again, so we're forced to drive along a dry riverbed as we make our way through the bush. Eventually, we reach Booni Adi. Everything here is in ruins. One building stands out. It appears to have been some kind of guest house which became a base for Boko Haram. Their logo, a circle with a cluster of inscriptions in Arabic, is stencil painted on the walls. The black color is merged with the scorched remains of battle. The place stinks of dead bodies and excrement. One room has boxes of drugs, possibly looted from a pharmacy. Open packs of syringes, too, spread across the floor, disturbing sights which send shivers down my spine. Outside, the soldiers are cheering wildly, showing off their guns. Some grab discarded Boko Haram flags and set fire to them as they sing. At the top of their voices, an army tank spins fast and furious on its axis, sending up clouds of dust which for a moment obscure the setting sun. Just three days earlier, this was a battlefield. We dazed them. Shouts one soldier, referring to their victory over the jihadis. As the battle raged, the residents of the town fled. And now there is not a single soul left in Bunyadi except for the soldiers, until we drive through the town and Colonel Yusuf radios the other soldiers on the convoy. That madman. Arrest him. Do you copy? Get that madman. We see a dark figure with dirty hair and wearing rags standing in an alleyway. He makes eye contact with the soldiers and then takes off into the woods. That's what they do. Shouts Colonel Yusuf. He's not a madman. He's a spy. He says this is a Boko Haram tactic designed to see what the army is up to. But what would have happened if there were no journalists here with the soldiers? What, I wonder, would these troops have done if they had caught up with
- [16:38]
Main Presenter
the runaway man, Tomi Oladipo. Now back in Lagos, the White House is facing a long battle against at least 26American states on the question of immigration. They reckon he's going too far, proposing to give limited legal rights to people who have illegally crossed over the border from Mexico. The standoff means that the attempts by millions of undocumented immigrants to gain legal status in the US have had to be put on hold. Adam Smith's been in California making a documentary on what's become a deeply controversial subject. It'll be on Radio 4 on Monday evening. The issue, he says, raises profound questions about what kind of country the United States is.
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Kate Ady
This beautiful city, nestling between the mountains and the beach in Southern California is generally an easy going sort of place. Its large student population sustains a thriving downtown of trendy cafes and, strikingly, no less than two hat shops. The kind of hat shops that cater to hipsters rather than old men. But the appearance of paradise is deceptive. In an elegant, palm tree fringed plaza in the centre of Santa Barbara, two groups of rival protesters, separated by a yellow plastic fence erected by the police, chant provocative slogans at each other. The atmosphere is tense. On one side, around 50 people, mostly but not exclusively white and middle aged, have gathered with American flags. They're angry about illegal immigration across the Mexican border 200 miles to the south, and indignant that the offices of the local newspaper were spray painted after it referred to illegals, rather than using the more neutral term undocumented migrants. One of the protesters, John, with his car boot full of copies of the U.S. constitution, is a veteran of such protests. This is a national security issue, he tells me. If you come here illegally, you're an invader, and it's the duty of the US government to repel invaders. Now in his 70s, John came to California when he was young, set up his own business and lived the California dream. But it's a whole lot different now than it was, he tells me. Not only is the government taxing and spending too much, but the very idea of the rule of law is under threat. President Obama's plan to give rights to those who've crossed the border illegally simply bewilders him. But isn't this a country made up of immigrants?
- [19:14]
Shaima Khalil
I ask.
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Kate Ady
Of course, John replies. His own grandparents came from Poland in the 1890s, and all he wants is for people to do it the right way. As John and I speak, a young man with a loud halo tries to drown out the singing of God Bless America by John's fellow Protesters with accusations that they're racist. How could he say that? John asks, shaking his head. He doesn't even know me. On the other side of the plaza, there's a somewhat larger, and, it has to be said, younger and much more ethnically diverse group of demonstrators who've come to support the rights of undocumented migrants. They chant we are beautiful. And wear homemade cardboard butterfly wings symbolizing the monarch butterfly, which migrates freely across borders up and down the west coast of North America. One of those with wings is Dora. Like John, she came to California when she was young. But Dora came illegally, echoing millions of immigrants to America over the centuries. She tells me that she was looking for a better life, and to work hard to do so took bravery and determination, evading not only US Border guards but enduring abuse from the Mexican people smugglers she'd paid. I spent all night running, she says, and so many people stayed behind me. Many died. What about John's point that she should have followed the legal immigration process? I don't see any difference between immigrants, however they come, she tells me. Dora's life as an undocumented migrant has not been easy, but it may now get better. A new California law gives her and hundreds of thousands of others like her the right to apply for a driver's license and also the right to apply for professional state licenses to work as a lawyer, for example. And so now Dora wants to go to college and to be given, as she puts it, the opportunity to help this country. Does she now think of herself as a Californian?
- [21:18]
Tomi Aladipo
I ask.
- [21:19]
Kate Ady
Of course, she says. Where we're standing, she points out, was once part of Mexico before the war of the 1840s, after which it was annexed by the US nearly 50 years ago. Richard Nixon, who grew up in Southern California, won two presidential election victories by claiming to speak on behalf of the silent majority, men and women who, like John today, felt that they had lost their voice in a country that was changing around them. Well, they're not silent now, but nor, it seems, are they a majority. Back in 1994, Californians voted for a ballot initiative that attempted to prohibit illegal immigrants from accessing state services. No one thinks such a measure would have any chance today. Are you winning? I ask one of John's CO protesters. A pause. No, he replies, but I don't see what I can do but keep on fighting.
- [22:17]
Main Presenter
Adam Smith in Santa Barbara no. To think China has all the sightseeing options a visitor could possibly want. But one that is not on everyone's list is the so called Kingdom of the Little People. The philanthropist businessman who set it up back in 2009 said he wanted to create a safe place for men and women, particularly short in stature, who have often been abused, even shunned, in China. But are its residents happy to be there? Andy Jones has been to the Kingdom, which is near the southern city of Kunming, to find out.
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Andy Jones
As I arrived at the Kingdom of the Little People, a welcome party emerged through the mountain mist, looking anything but unhappy and exploited. They all seem to be clad in kids fancy dress, their tiny hands stretching out to greet me. Guards in inverted commas are standing there in children's medieval play costumes with plastic shields. Little dancers, heavily made up, smile and wave politely at the 50 or so guests who have arrived for the morning show. Through an interpreter, I am told there is a dwarf fire service, a police force, a parliament and a democratically elected ruler. Those who can't dance or perform are given jobs in security, handicrafts, catering or cleaning. It all seems rather better organised than the nearby city of Kunming, a place that's big on ambition and natural beauty, but with an infrastructure which doesn't seem to have matched its recent growth. Plush hotels have high definition, flat screen TVs, but no heating. Motorways lie half finished. The public toilets are okay with liquids, but won't, you're warned, except solids. The village of those of short stature is like Lilliput. Plastic moshroom houses, like something from a 90s Nintendo game, sit on a small hillock from where the diminutive ones file out for their daily parade. They don't actually live in those fungal dwellings, but in heated dormitories some distance away. In the parade, the performers flank the Emperor. He's an elderly man, shorter than most, who waves at his subjects from beneath a black cloak. Everyone here is small. The community only allows those under a certain height. Bizarrely, even the stray dogs, packs of Chihuahuas and Papillons, are tiny. An enthusiastic presenter details the day's events on a microphone, and the singers make up for a lack of vocal skill and with boundless enthusiasm. The visitors here, mainly Chinese tourists, take photos and cheer as the little people take part in folk dance, gymnastic displays and muscle man shows. A little chap with large biceps makes a grand show of lifting weights bigger than he is. The audience laughs at a dwarf drag queen who throws a silicone breast implant into the crowd. They respond by showering him with roses. The tourists have their picture taken with the entertainers, the smallest, the most popular, before they are invited to have tea in the dwarf houses. The bosses here are keen for me to meet as many of the small folk as possible. They insist there are no secrets. The residents certainly appear happy and relaxed. I learned that in most places in China, they meet no one else of their stature. Here they are accepted, given language classes, fitted clothes and an agreeable wage. I meet one of the presenters, Xiao Xiao, or Little Little, who has a boyfriend here and is happy. She says only a few of the 200 people living here have left, and that was largely because they were homesick. Previously. She tells me she used to sing on top of bars for small change, and drunks would grab at her or throw drinks. Now she sings on a proper stage, like she's always dreamed of. People applaud politely and throw flowers. Another resident tells me she left a toxic job in a smelting factory to come here. Others begged or thieved. Few jobs, it seems, are open to dwarfs in China. The taunts or aggression that many of these people suffered elsewhere just don't happen. Everyone here is little. I make a number of visits to the kingdom in the three days I'm in this part of China, and whilst the visitors cheer and take photos, they do seem particularly polite. And gradually it becomes clear that for those living here, sex and love are big attractions. Before arriving, many had never had an adult relationship on account of their size. But in the Kingdom, everyone is small. There have been several dwarf marriages and, inevitably, children, all happily celebrated. There are no locks on the doors. I'm told there's no crime. Yet bed hopping, it seems, is frequent. Any disputes, though, marital or otherwise, are solved by the elected council. The stage and publicly facing aspects of their lives are gaudy, almost tacky. This is like a Santa's grotto of naff attractions. But in the private quarters beyond where they spend most of their lives, there's privacy and respect. Before I go, I have another chat with Xiao Zhao, who says wherever she goes, here or in the world outside, people are fascinated by her size. But I can't help wondering whether being gawped at for four hours a day is a fair exchange for a life of increased security and a little happiness.
- [27:41]
Main Presenter
Andy Jones, laying bare the secrets of China's little people and bringing another edition to a close. There'll be more stories from reporters around the world in our program on Saturday morning. Do join us. Goodbye.