Destageer, my Afghan deputy, and I sat in that little office in Southern Afghanistan surrounded by ten majestically fierce Pashtun tribal elders. They had just asked me where I was from. For just a moment I had hesitated, knowing that my answer would be heard by the Taliban who sat among them. Then, with a confidence in their cultural code, I told them I was an American. I quickly scanned their faces for a reaction. Some of these men would have cut my throat if they’d found me wandering on the streets of their city, but at this moment I was the safest American in all of Afghanistan and their faces showed it: a quick nod of the head in acknowledgement and a resumption of their task at hand.
Why my confidence? I knew that for all the talk of the “clash of civilizations”, there was a common ground, a code of conduct on both sides that could be tapped into. Call it human nature or core values, these guys wanted cell phone service in their area and I was a businessman who had the solution; they would talk with me and protect me with their lives.
