(AF): Afghanistan:Fall of the Taliban-Resurgence of Dog fighting

[Guest guest]

Afghanistan:Fall of the Taliban-Resurgence of Dog fighting

 

January 27, 2009

 

If it wasn't so upsetting to the dog lovers of the civilized world, it would

just be ironic. It seems that since the fall of the Taliban in 2001 dog

fighting has again become a very popular sport in Afghanistan. In the

capital city of Kabul which is located in the North of Afghanistan there is

reportedly two organized dog fights per week. These matches are always on

Friday which is the national day of prayer. ( more irony?) The bets placed

by the largely poor local people range to hundreds of dollars per dog and

the purses can go as high as $50,000. The matches draw people from all over

the country side with fight attendances estimated at several thousand

people.

 

Dogfighting was banned under the repressive ultra Islamic fundamentalist

religion of the Taliban. But since 2001 the sport has regained its earlier

popularity.

 

According to a recent New York Times article,

 

the sport has even experienced a resurgence in the south, where the

influence of the Taliban is strongest, though the crowds have thinned

somewhat since February, when a suicide bomber detonated himself at a

dogfighting match. About 80 people were killed and more were wounded.

 

Afghanistan is a country that has seen three decades of violence and war

which seems to have had a lasting effect on what the average person

considers sport and entertainment.

 

Read the whole

article.<http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/28/world/asia/28dogfight.html>

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/28/world/asia/28dogfight.html

 

Dogfighting Making a Comeback in Afghanistan

 

By KIRK

SEMPLE<http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/kirk_semple/\

index.html?inline=nyt-per>

Published: December 27, 2008

 

KABUL,

Afghanistan<http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/international/countriesandterrito\

ries/afghanistan/index.html?inline=nyt-geo>

—

In a dingy butcher's shop reeking of slaughter, a half-dozen sheep's

carcasses dangled from hooks, and two men spoke of dogs.

 

" My dog is younger than his dog, I have the advantage, " said one of the men,

known as Abdul Sabour, 49. " And my dog is more energetic than his dog. "

 

" He's lying, " grumbled the other man, Kefayatullah, 50. " His dog is old.

He's just here wasting his time. How many dogs has my dog beaten? Sixty! My

dog has been a champion for three years! "

 

The men were arranging a dogfight, largely in the international language of

trash-talking. They represented two groups of bettors. The purse, they said,

was $50,000, a fortune in this impoverished country and one of the biggest

prizes here in recent memory.

 

Afghans like to fight. They will boast about this. They will say that

fighting is in their blood. And for all the horrors of three decades of war,

they still find room to fight for fun, most often through proxies: cocks,

rams, goats, camels, kites.

 

And dogs.

Dogfighting<http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/subjects/d/dogfi\

ghting/index.html?inline=nyt-classifier>

was

banned under the

Taliban<http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/organizations/t/tali\

ban/index.html?inline=nyt-org>,

who considered it un-Islamic. But since the Taliban's ouster in 2001, the

sport has regained its earlier popularity, with dogfighters entering their

charges in informal weekly tournaments on dusty lots in the country's major

cities.

 

The sport has even experienced a resurgence in the south, where the

influence of the Taliban is strongest, though the crowds have thinned

somewhat since February, when a suicide bomber detonated himself at a

dogfighting match. About 80 people were killed and more were wounded.

 

Here in the capital, there are two tournaments every week, both on Friday,

the day of prayer. The bigger one unfolds in the morning in a natural dirt

amphitheater at the bottom of a craggy slope on the city's outskirts. It

draws thousands of men and boys as spectators — like most sports and

sporting events in Afghanistan, it is almost exclusively a male pursuit.

 

" It's something from our ancestors, " said Ghulam Yahya Amirzadah, 21, whose

family owns 17 dogs in Kabul and in their hometown in the northwest province

of Badghis.

 

Mr. Amirzadah, who is known in dogfighting circles as Lala Herati, said he

inherited the pastime from his father, who ran fighting dogs in his youth.

 

" It's not about money, " Mr. Amirzadah said. " If my dog beats another dog, it

makes me feel like I've won $100,000. I can survive just from the

happiness. "

 

On a recent Friday, Mr. Amirzadah was at the dogfighting amphitheater,

though without his dogs. He was watching the fights and arranging future

matches for his stable.

 

More than 2,000 people were there — poor men who had arrived on foot as well

as former warlords in sport utility vehicles accompanied by

Kalashnikov-toting guards. And there were dozens of dogs — hulking,

big-headed mastiff breeds that, in the right light and the wrong setting,

might be mistaken for small bears. Some were so big that they had to be

restrained by two men. A few owners, their arms tired, had lashed their dogs

to the wheels of cars.

 

An informal committee of arbiters, including Mr. Kefayatullah and Abdul

Sabour, was selecting the fights and matching up the dogs. Some fights had

been organized days in advance, with hundreds of dollars, sometimes

thousands, riding on each.

 

A ringmaster, a toothless old man with a turban and a limp, presided over

the event. He carried a wooden staff that he used to beat spectators who

crowded the dirt arena and members of the dogfighters' entourages who

blocked the view.

 

Though dogfighting is again popular here, it is far from universally

embraced. The country's elite disparage it as the domain of the uncultured

and the criminal.

 

" In my personal view, it's not a good thing, " said Ghulam Nabi Farahi,

deputy minister of information and culture. " In today's world, these animals

should be treated well. But unfortunately, there's a lot of fighting. "

But dogfighters generally shrug at these sorts of remarks. In modern Afghan

society, there are not many sources of entertainment, they argue. In

addition, they say, the dogs are well fed and well treated.

 

" The interest of the people is increasing day by day, " said Sher Mohammad

Sheywaki, 50, who was standing on the edge of the fighting pitch. " Even if

people are starving, they'll still keep dogfighting. "

 

A fight was about to begin. Two dogs were brought close by their owners,

then released. They lunged at each other, thrusting upward on hind legs and

clamping their jaws onto each other's face. They tugged and twisted each

other, looking for leverage, each trying to knock the other off balance.

 

Their handlers pressed in, shouting encouragement and slapping the dogs on

their haunches, as a jockey would a racehorse. A cameraman crouched nearby,

recording the fight for collectors' DVDs. A large cloud of dust enveloped

the scrum.

 

This fight, like most others, was over in a few minutes when one dog had

pinned the other to the ground and held him there. They were pulled apart

and hauled out of the ring.

 

In some countries, dogfighters will fight their dogs to the death. But

Afghan dogfighting is more akin to Greco-Roman wrestling. A dog is declared

the victor when he clearly establishes his dominance over the other, or when

the weaker dog displays one of the telltale signs of submission, including

backing off from the fight or putting its tail between its legs. They are

usually pulled apart before they can inflict serious damage on each other.

 

The stakes for dogfighters are too high to risk their charges any further.

Dogs may be a costly investment for the average Afghan, but they can also

make their owners money.

 

On the eve of the fight between Mr. Kefayatullah's dog, Palang (meaning

tiger), and Abdul Sabour's dog, Zambur (bee), the planned $50,000 purse

dropped to $10,000, according to Mr. Kefayatullah.

 

The fight took place on a sunny and chilly Friday morning this month. It was

heavily anticipated, and the crowd was large. For more than 10 minutes,

Palang and Zambur tore against each other, drawing blood. Mr. Kefayatullah,

Abdul Sabour and others with money riding on the fight stayed close and

yelled encouragement, according to Mr. Amirzadah, who attended.

 

Eventually, Zambur, Abdul Sabour's dog, ran out of steam and Palang

overwhelmed him, prompting the men to call a halt to the fight. In

celebration, friends of Mr. Kefayatullah swarmed Palang, whose fur was wet

with blood, and showered him with Afghani bills.

 

Except for deep wounds on a leg and an ear, Palang was O.K. But his owner

was not. Minutes after the fight, Mr. Kefayatullah collapsed and was rushed

to the hospital. He had a heart attack.

 

" It was a stroke of joy and happiness! " he joked a week later, as he lay in

a ward in the Wazir Akhbar Khan Hospital in Kabul. His wife and daughter sat

at his bedside. " I'll be up in no time, " he said, " and everything will be

back to normal, like before. "

 

His wife's face visibly tensed. " No you won't! " she said, glaring. She was

serious. He was smiling. The daughter looked embarrassed.

 

" It's over, " Mr. Kefayatullah's wife continued. " I will kill the dogs! I

will give them some pills. "

 

Mr. Kefayatullah shrugged and smiled again, trying to defuse the situation.

" She says a lot, but I don't listen, " he said, and he vowed to be back at

the Friday dogfights — with his champion dogs — soon enough.

 

Abdul Waheed Wafa contributed reporting.

 

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