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VOICES CALL OUT

Just days after the last American soldier left Afghanistan,

I arrive in Kabul, with only an Afghan translator and my camera.

I came to see in whose hands this country was left.

Relying on contacts from a decade in the journalism,

filming war theatres,

I've negotiated an arrangement with the Taliban.

Forbidden to film anyone other than them,

and under constant surveillance,

I've been granted access to follow one high-ranking commander

and one ground soldier at Kabul air base.

Documenting the Taliban's transition from an insurgent militia

into a military regime.

In return, I must show the world the image of the Taliban

that they want me to see.

Between the gates of what they wanted and what I came to do,

may I show what I saw.

VOICES CHATTER

HUBBUB OF VOICES

RIFLE FIRE ECHOES

GUNFIRE CONTINUES

SUSTAINED GUNFIRE

CAR WINDOW ROLLS DOWN

LOW CHATTER

WALKIE TALKIE CHATTER

ENGINE IDLES

CAR DOOR OPENS

ENGINE TURNS OVER

LOW CHATTER

DISTANT GUNFIRE

DISTANT GUNFIRE CRACKLES

CHILDREN LAUGH

LINE CONNECT TONE

IMAM RECITES RITES

CAR HORNS BLARE

LIVELY CHATTER

BUSY HUBBUB

NEWS REPORT PLAYS

LINE CONNECT TONE

HE RECITES RITES

PARTY POPPER POPS

PARTY POPPER POPS

AIRCRAFT ENGINE WHIRS

ROTOR BLADES THRUM

TYRES SCREECH

ANGRY CLAMOUR

SUSTAINED GUNFIRE

GUNFIRE ECHOES

GUNFIRE RESUMES

LAUGHTER

ENGINE TURNS OVER

THEY LAUGH

AIRCRAFT ENGINES WHIR

ANGRY CLAMOUR

HE LAUGHS

MASS SHOUTING

What I tried to show is what I saw.

Because I held this camera,

I was kept away from the daily suffering of the Afghans.

Yet I feel it everywhere I go.

Inside all the gates I went through,

one thing I cannot move past

is the obscene power of those who worship war

and the pain that it causes for generations.