No Comment — November 2, 2010, 2:48 pm

The White House, the Pentagon, and Central Asia

Following the April revolution in Kyrgyzstan, the nation’s new political leaders were virtually unanimous in one criticism of the United States: “All they care about is that air base.” The charge was validated by the personal testimony of President Akayev’s ambassador to Washington, who negotiated the terms of the air base deal. The Americans used to raise issues of human rights and democracy with us, he wrote. But once the base was in place, that was it. White House advisor Michael McFaul has pushed back, insisting that Washington has always cared about a variety of issues, and that military concerns are only a piece of the agenda.

Now two independent studies from the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute and the Open Society Institute make mincemeat out of McFaul’s argument.

Near the top of their conclusions: the United States spends roughly six times the money on military and security aid in Central Asia that it spends on promoting human rights, the rule of law, and democracy. This isn’t taking into account the money that Washington spends directly on its own security—such as disbursements connected with the air base at Manas. It’s a measure of the foreign assistance budget.

Second, we find that Washington’s bark is worse than its bite when it comes to human-rights abuses. Notwithstanding a decision to terminate military aid in 2004 and fairly strong language from the Bush Administration following the massacre in Andijan in 2005, Uzbekistan was able to purchase more than $50 million worth of training and equipment directly from U.S. companies and over $12 million more through U.S. government channels. Indeed, the shutoff of American direct assistance in Uzbekistan seems to have coincided with the mysterious appearance in Uzbekistan of prime U.S. security contractors such as Blackwater. (Incidentally, the Europeans have nothing to brag about on this score either. Notwithstanding a European Union embargo, both Germany and Austria continued to supply assistance to Uzbekistan in clear breach of its terms.)

Transparency also figures as a major issue. The researchers note that the full scope of American operations in Central Asia remain enshrouded in mystery, and that the numbers disclosed by the Department of Defense have so many limitations and caveats that they invariably seriously underrepresent the scope of assistance.

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

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