5 secrets the media won’t say about Trump’s immigration order…..


President Donald Trump is vigorously defending his immigration restrictions, as angry protests spread throughout the country, saying “this is about terror and keeping our country safe.”

Trump released a statement Monday asserting, “To be clear, this is not a Muslim ban, as the media is falsely reporting.”

He’s right.

Despite the mainstream media outcry, the administration’s move is totally legal.

In fact, it’s actually very standard… and that truth is what the media is hiding in their condemnation of Trump.

Actually, it’s five truths. Because five out of the last six presidents of the United States have done almost the same exact thing.

Where was the media outrage when former President Barack Obama banned Iraqi immigrants in 2011 for six months, and in 2012 barred the entry of persons that have worked with the Iranian and Syrian government?

Where was this fury when former President George W. Bush and former President Bill Clinton each used the authority six times; Clinton banned Haitians in 1991 and residents of Serra Leone in 1998, if they were related to anyone involved in that country’s ruling government – where were the accusations of racism from Democrats?

Former President Ronald Reagan used this same authority five times; the media won’t mention that, of course.

And in 1980, former President Jimmy Carter used it to ban Iranians from entering the United States. His executive order suspended “all visas issued to Iranian citizens for future entry into the United States,” and said the U.S. government “will not reissue visas, nor will we issue new visas, except for compelling and proven humanitarian reasons or where the national interest of our own country requires.”

Trump’s order, which also suspends refugee admissions for 120 days and indefinitely bars the processing of refugees from Syria, has sparked widespread protests and denunciations from the same Democrats and talking heads in the mainstream media that cheered Carter and Obama and Clinton’s actions.

And they’re ignoring the truth – this has been done many, many times in the past.

It’s totally legal, according to section 212(f) of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1952 which states: “Whenever the President finds that the entry of any aliens or of any class of aliens into the United States would be detrimental to the interests of the United States, he may by proclamation, and for such period as he shall deem necessary, suspend the entry of all aliens or any class of aliens as immigrants or non immigrants, or impose on the entry of aliens any restrictions he may deem to be appropriate.”

To their credit, the Trump administration has remained unfazed by the unfair coverage.

“America is a proud nation of immigrants and we will continue to show compassion to those fleeing oppression,” Trump said, “but we will do so while protecting our own citizens and border. This is not about religion — this is about terror and keeping our country safe.”

“I have tremendous feeling for the people involved in this horrific humanitarian crisis in Syria,” he said. “My first priority will always be to protect and serve our country, but as President I will find ways to help those who are suffering.”

In a background call with reporters Sunday, a senior administration official declared the order’s implementation “a massive success story,” claiming it had been done “seamlessly and with extraordinary professionalism.”

 

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The Vinyl Lifestyle…buy, sell, trade or swap…..


The place to come to check out vintage sound!!!
8 track tapes, vinyl records, cassettes, you name it!!!
Buy, sell, trade, or just show off what you have.
Turntables, 8 track players, vintage home stereo units, here we go!!!
All dealings will be done between members, and has no connection with the admins of this group.
Buyer and seller are responsible for all their own dealings/transactions, with no liability to the admins here on this group.
Have fun, and let’s see some good stuff!!!

NEW FACEBOOK GROUP:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/384205195267781/

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Shocker! Hillary pal arrested for Trump assassination plot……


A Florida man with close family ties to Hillary and Bill Clinton is under arrest after posting an alarming video on his twitter account threatening to kill President-elect Donald Trump.

The story behind this would-be assassination plot is unsettling.

Dominic Puopolo Jr., 51, was arrested in Miami after he posted a disturbing online video where he vowed to kill Trump at the inauguration, and challenged the FBI and Secret Service to stop him.

Puopolo’s video threat said he would “be at the review / inauguration and I will kill President Trump… President-elect Trump” while in Washington, D.C.

Miami police arrested him for threats against a public official later that day.

What has raised eyebrows about Puopolo’s twisted threat, however, is his strangely close connection to the Clinton family.

Public records show that Puopolo is no stranger to the Democratic Party, and specifically the Clinton family. Failed Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton delivered the eulogy at the funeral of his mother, where she personally referenced Dominic in her remarks as a “computer wizard.” Puopolo’s mother, Sonia, died in one of the jets that crashed into the Twin Towers in Sep. 11, 2001 terror attacks.

Puopolo has also posted numerous pictures to social media of himself with Secretary of State John Kerry, whom he refers to him as a friend. And according to The Daily Mail, he has also donated tens of thousands of dollars to various DNC political campaigns throughout the past few decades.

Clearly mentally ill, Puoplo’s Twitter feed is filled with strange rants and messages about “coded messages” found in popular Netflix television shows. He commonly refers to himself as Jesus Christ, and claims to have been an expert witness in terror trials in German federal courts for five years.

Raised by well-connected parents, Puopolo appears to be quite wealthy. After being arrested for petty crimes around Miami four times in the past ten years, The Daily Mail reported Wednesday that, “When he was arrested in March, the judge ordered Puopolo to be represented by a tax-funded public defender after declaring him ‘indigent.’ Property records, however, indicate Puopolo sold a family home in Dover, Mass. in 2013 for $4 million. And in 2004, he sold a condo in downtown Miami for $3.3 million.”

The Miami police report says he was arrested Monday at a nearby Subway restaurant and admitted to officers he had posted the threatening video. Police say Puopolo told them he is homeless, but conflicting reports have emerged that he actually lives in a $60,000 apartment in Miami.

His family has yet to comment on the arrest.

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BREAKING – Just Before Leaving Office, Obama Caught In $2.6 BILLION Scandal…


Barack Obama’s legacy just got another massive, and rather expensive, blemish. American taxpayers are livid over this betrayal, but the mainstream media have been silent!

Dead retailers somehow redeemed more than $2 billion worth of food stamps. Well, if dead people can vote for Democrats, why can’t they go on ahead and spend our money too?

An audit by the United Sates Department of Agriculture (USDA) inspector general’s office discovered billions of dollars in improper National Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), better known as food stamps, were claimed by stores alleging they were run by children or dead people.

“We found that 3,394 authorized SNAP retailers (retailers) used Social Security Numbers (SSN) that matched SSNs of deceased people,” the inspector general’s office said. “Additionally, 193 retailers listed owners who were not at least 18 years of age. While FNS did have some controls to edit or verify SNAP retail owner information, these controls were not adequate to ensure owner information accuracy.”

The massive food stamp fraud occurred between October 2013 and June 2015, according to a Free Beacon report. The USDA inspector general identified 3,394 stores approved to accept food stamps, which were reported as owned by 1,819 people who were listed as dead in the Social Security “Death Master File.”

“These 3,394 retailers redeemed about $2.6 billion in SNAP benefits,” the inspector general’s report also revealed. The 193 businesses that reported child owners redeemed $41 million in food stamps.

The government report went on to state the obvious—without accurate retail owner store data, there is “little assurance” the store owners are actually who they say they are.

Identity fraud is a federal crime. Illegal distribution of food stamps is also a federal crime. Why would a legit store owner risk this kind of fraud? He or she wouldn’t, but an illegal immigrant or criminal bilking the taxpayers might think it is a grand scheme.

“This could leave the program open to abuse by disqualified individuals and others wishing to hide their identity for possible fraudulent purposes,” the report droned on, once again stating the obvious. Liberals try to convince us the government assistance programs our hard-earned money is used to fund are not ripe with corruption and do not create a state of generational dependency. Neither claim is true, folks.

The food stamps processed by the dead retail owners came from either the recipients themselves or someone they illegally traded or stole their food stamps with, such as drug dealers. The end result is the same either way. We are being stolen from, and poor children are likely going hungry in the process.

When welfare recipients sell their food stamps, they do so for pennies on the dollar. By the end of the month, any children in the home are left with empty bellies, but their parents have plenty of cigarettes, beer, and illegal drugs of their choice.

“If indeed some of these retailers are wholly owned by deceased persons or persons under the age of 18, this situation could leave FNS with little recourse other than disqualification in the event that adverse action needs to be taken against a particular retailer,” the inspector general added.

The weirdest and most frustrating part of this food stamp theft report is how little the federal government has done to prevent it. The U.S. does not have a system in place to scan its database to make sure the owners of the food stamps retail locations are at least 18 years old, but they do have an “edit check” to make sure the guy who owns the local supermarket is “at least five years old.”

About 46 million Americans are now on food stamps. This is a new record. The programs costs American taxpayers approximately $70 million per year.Obama 22

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The Obama Era is Over by DANIEL GREENFIELD, ISRAEL NEWS November 10, 2016…..


Obama and his supporters loved talking about history. His victory was historic. They were on the right side of history. History was an inevitable arc that bent their way.

The tidal force of demographics had made the old America irrelevant. Any progressive policy agenda was now possible because we were no longer America.  We Were Obamerica. A hip, happening place full of smiling gay couples, Muslim women in hijabs and transgender actors. We were all going to live in a New York City coffee house, work at Green Jobs and live in the post-national future.

The past was gone. We were falling into the gorgeous wonderful future of dot com instant deliveries and outsourced everything. We would become more tolerant and guilty. The future was Amazon and Disney. It was hot and cold running social justice. The Bill of Rights was done. Ending the First and Second Amendments was just a clever campaign away. Narratives on news sites drove everything.

Presidents were elected by Saturday Night Live skits.

John Oliver, John Stewart, Stephen Colbert and Samantha Bee were our journalists. Safe spaces were everywhere and you better watch your micro-aggressions, buddy. No more coal would be mined. No more anything would be made. 

The end of men was here. The end of the dead white men of the literary canon. The end of white people. The end of binary gender and marriage. The end of reason. The end of art. The end of 2 + 2 equaling 4. This was Common Core time. It was time to pardon an endless line of drug dealers. To kill cops and praise criminals. To be forced to buy worthless health insurance for wealth redistribution to those who voted their way to wealth. 

This was Obama’s America. And there was no going back. We were rushing through endless goal posts of social transformation. The military fell. Then the police. Now it looks as quaint as anything from the 50s, the 70s or the 80s. A brief moment of foolishness that already appears odd and awkward. And then one day nostalgic. It wasn’t the future. It’s already the past. It’s history.

Scalia died. Hillary Clinton was bound to win. And she would define the Supreme Court. Down-ticket races would give her a friendly Senate. And then perhaps even the House. 

But there is no right side of history. There is only the side we choose. The Obama era was permanent. It was history.

Now it is history.

It‘s shocking ascendancy has been paired with an equally shocking descent. The Obama era is done. It’s gone.   It’s over. It was wiped from the pages of history in one night that left Congress and the White House in Republican hands. 

It would have been bad enough if Jeb Bush had succeeded Obama. That would have been inconvenient, but not a repudiation. Instead Obama’s legacy was dashed to pieces. His frantic efforts to campaign for Hillary did no good.  The public did not vocally reject him. What they did was even worse. They brushed past him. They sidelined him. They gave him passable approval ratings while dismissing his biggest accomplishments. They forgot him. They made it clear that he did not matter. 

And that is in its own way far more brutal and wounding. They didn’t just destroy the Obama era.  Instead they dismissed it as if it never existed.

Obama didn’t make history after all. He wasn’t a teleprompter demi-god standing athwart of history. He was Carter and Ford. He was there to be forgotten. He didn’t change the world. He wasn’t the messiah. He was merely mortal. Just another politician who will sag and age. Who will, in the end, be photographed like Bill Clinton, lonely and lost  in a world that has passed him by.

The Obama era ends not with a bang, but with a whimper. With a national consensus that maybe he didn’t really matter so much after all. And those to whom he mattered the most were his enemies determined to undo everything he did. 

Obama once thought that he belonged to the ages. Now he belongs in the rubbish bin.

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The Shave Club….


A GREAT SHAVE. DELIVERED.TRY ANY RAZORFOR JUST $1

Includes a weighty handle, 4 cartridges and free shipping.

http://shaved.by/eSgyU

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Joaquin Murrieta – Patriot or Desperado?….


Depending on a California pioneer’s point of view in the mid 19th century, Joaquin Murrieta was described by some as a Mexican Patriot, while others would say he was nothing but a vicious desperado.

 

Thought to have been born in either Alamos, Sonora, Mexico or Quillota, Chile in 1829; Joaquin traveled with his older brother, Carlos and his wife, Rosita, toCalifornia in 1850 to seek his fortune in the gold fields of California. The three immigrants soon set up a small farm and the brothers began to work a claim near Hangtown. However, in the same year as their arrival, a Foreign Miners Tax was imposed in California and their Anglo-Saxon neighbors tried to run them off by telling them that it was illegal for Mexicans to hold a claim. Reportedly, the Murrieta brothers tried to ignore the threats as long as they could until they were finally forced off their claim. Angry and unable to find work, Joaquin turned to a life of crime, along with other disposed foreign miners, who began to prey upon those who had forced them from their claims. 

 

Joaquin Murrieta, California bandit

Joaquin Murrieta

 
Murrieta soon became one of the leaders of a band of ruffians called The Five Joaquins, who were said to have been responsible for cattle rustling, robberies, and murders that occurred in the gold rush area of the Sierra Nevadas between 1850 and 1863. Comprised of Joaquin Botellier, Joaquin Carrillo, Joaquin Ocomorenia, and Joaquin Valenzuela, and Murrieta’s right hand man Manual Garcia, known as “Three-Fingered Jack,” the tales of their crime spree included stealing over 100 horses, making off with more than $100,000 in gold, and killing 19 men.

 

With posses trailing after them, the bandits were able to avoid the law for several years, killing three lawmen in the process. When travel through the goldfields was made nearly impossible by the Five Joaquins, a bounty was placed on Murrieta’s head for $5,000. Finally having had enough of the Five Joaquins as well as the rest of the lawlessness in California, its Governor, John Bigler, created the “California Rangers” in May, 1853. Lead by former Texas Ranger, Harry Love, their first assignment was to arrest the Five Joaquins.

 

On July 25, 1853, the rangers encountered a group of Mexican males near Panoche Pass in San Benito County. In the inevitable gunfight that ensued, two of the Mexicans were killed, one of whom was thought to have been Murrieta, and the other — his right-hand man, Manual Garcia.

 

As evidence of the outlaws’ deaths, they cut of Garcia’s hand and Murrieta’s head and preserved them in a jar of brandy. Seventeen people, including a priest, signed affidavits identifying the head as Murrieta’s and the Rangers involved received the $5,000 reward.

 

Murrieta’s grisly remains then began to travel throughout California, displayed in Stockton, San Francisco and the mining camps of Mariposa County, to curious spectators willing to pay $1.00 to see the “sight” of the dead bandit’s head.

 

But not long after he was killed, speculation began to arise that it had not been Murrieta who had been killed, especially when a young woman, who claimed to be his sister, viewed the head and said that it did not have a characteristic scar that her brother had. Others began to make reports that Marietta was seen in various places in California after his alleged death.

 

If his legend wasn’t enough during his short life time, it would soon grow larger when in 1854, the first “fictionalized” account of his life appeared in a San Francisco newspaper and a book by John Rollin Ridge. In The Life and Adventures of Joaquin Murrieta.

 

Ridge portrayed Murrieta as a folk hero who had only turned to a life of crime after a mob of American miners had beaten him severely and left him for dead, hanged his brother, and raped and killed his wife. According to Ridge’s account, Joaquin was a dashing, romantic figure that swearing to avenge the atrocities committed upon his family, committed his many crimes only in an effort to “right” the many injustices against the Mexicans.

 

According to the tale, Murrieta fled from his claim only to set up a saloon in nearby Hangtown, where miners began to go missing. One by one, the dead bodies of the miners, all who were said to have been part of the killings at the Murrieta claim, turned up with their ears cut off.

 

Joaquin Murreita's Head Advertising

After Joaquin’s supposed death, advertising posters were displayed where the head could be viewed, 1853.

After fourteen miners had been found dead or missing, a Hangtown settler identified Murrieta who fled once again. Before long, he had gathered up his outlaw gang and began to take out his vendetta against the white settlers through robbery and mayhem.  However, to his Mexican compatriots he was generous and kind, giving much of his ill gotten gains to the poor, who in turn helped to shelter him from the law.

 

There is no evidence that Ridge’s version of the tale is accurate; however, similar atrocities were committed on both Mexicans and Chinese who were living in California at the time.

 

Over the years, the telling of the tale continued to grow until the dead Mexican outlaw began to be called the Robin Hood of El Dorado and take on a symbolized resistance of the Mexicans to the Anglo-American domination of California. And all throughout Gold Country, tales were told of how the outlaw had stayed at this or that hotel, drank in various saloons, and those who claimed to have actually met or was robbed by the man.

 

As to what happened to Joaquin’s head, it was finally placed behind the bar of the Golden Nugget Saloon in San Francisco, until the building was destroyed by the 1906 earthquake.

 

The head itself would become yet a part of another legend – the ghost of Joaquin. Even today, the tales continue of Joaquin’s headless ghost riding through the old gold fields, crying like a banshee – “Give me back my head.”

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/ca-murieta.html

Categories: California, gold, Myths, Outlaws, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Life and Death of Wasil, the Taliban-Hunting Child Warrior….


When his father was murdered, Wasil Ahmad vowed revenge. He was barely old enough to hoist a rifle, but still he trained to fight the Taliban. Finally, when the insurgents returned, Wasil found his chance. What he did next made him a legend. And then it made him a target.

All wars breed heroes, but some come in unexpected form. Wasil Ahmad was one of the unlikeliest. He was only 8 years old when the war in Afghanistan, already a family affair, set him on a path for vengeance.

One morning, about an hour’s walk from the family compound where Wasil slept, his father and three uncles stood guard at a newly built police checkpoint. For years, as the Taliban and the Afghan government had traded control of this stretch of southern Afghanistan, Wasil’s family seesawed between both sides. Now, with the Americans pulling out, the men in Wasil’s family glimpsed new opportunity—and new jobs—as leaders of a U.S.-backed police force. They pledged to fight the Taliban, to defend their valley from the insurgents.

They girded themselves for battle, which came that morning in the summer of 2012, as the Taliban swept down from the hills of the Uruzgan province and attacked the new checkpoint of the Afghan Local Police. Soon, the crack and pop of gunfire rattled through the valley of Nawa Sultan Mohammad, and the fighting spilled into the surrounding fields. The police, commanded by Wasil’s uncle Samad, fought the insurgents throughout the afternoon and into the evening, managing to kill ten Taliban fighters before the attackers were subdued. But three of their own had been gunned down, too—including Wasil’s father, Hamidullah.

That night, as darkness enveloped the family’s three-story mud-brick compound, Wasil’s uncles shuffled Hamidullah’s bloodied corpse inside. The boy drew close, his cheeks wet with tears. In the low light, he could see the blood that stained his father’s clothes. He was a child, yes, but he knew enough of his world to realize, without even asking, who had killed his father. And he knew what it meant for him.

In the weeks that followed, Wasil’s anger hardened into a grim and brutal ambition—one that would launch him toward fame and then toward tragedy. “Teach me how to shoot,” Wasil said to his uncle Samad when he had resolved himself to retribution. “I want to kill my father’s killer.”


At first, Wasil’s family managed to steer the boy away from his quest for revenge. “We convinced him to keep going to school,” Merwais Ahmad, one of Wasil’s other uncles, told me. But as he grew, Wasil refused to forget. Like very few things in Afghanistan, the boy’s hatred for the Taliban was simple. It was also unwavering—which was another rarity in a part of the country where the Taliban aren’t always the enemy.

His family’s own complicated relationship with the Taliban went back years, to the days before 9/11, when the group first came to power and Wasil’s uncle Samad became an eager climber in the local power structure. It wasn’t religious devotion that drove Samad but, rather, expediency. Like many, he wanted what the Taliban could offer. “At that time, I didn’t know what was good or what was bad,” Samad told me. “Everybody likes to have vehicles, a little power, to be on the government’s side. The Taliban provided us with fuel, with a better life.”

When the Americans arrived, three years before Wasil was born, Samad fought to repel them. He had battled invaders before—fighting the Soviets as a mujahideen warrior in the 1980s. Now, toiling for the Taliban, Samad buried IEDs in roads and under bridges and fashioned explosive vests for suicide attacks. Samad was a Taliban commander when Wasil was born—and as the boy grew, he became entranced with his uncle’s stories of courage and valor.

But by the time Wasil was 8, Samad was having doubts. In early 2012, as American and Afghan authorities were working hard to win the loyalties of fighters like him—offering them jobs and other incentives—Samad broke ranks with the Taliban. Along with 13 of his men, he pledged allegiance to the U.S.-backed Afghan government.

Whether or not Wasil could grasp the complexities of shifting allegiances, his family’s fortunes were changing. Samad, now a sworn enemy of the Taliban, was promptly appointed to run a unit of the Afghan Local Police, the region’s lone security force. He hired Wasil’s father, Hamidullah, a farmer and taxi driver, and his two other brothers—along with 30 ex-Taliban fighters and 40 other locals. They set up five fortified checkpoints and began keeping watch.

It was only a matter of time before the Taliban, eager to repay Samad and his men for their defection, roared down from the highland one morning and put a newly fatherless child on a mission for retribution.

In the months that followed, Wasil pleaded to join his uncle’s police unit. And by the time he turned 10, his nagging became too much. As Merwais told me, Samad finally relented. “He had to keep him happy. He was saying, ‘Okay, this is a pistol. Just shoot it like this.’ And he started teaching him.”

Thus began the training of a uniquely gifted child soldier.


When Wasil wasn’t at school, he and his uncle—sometimes accompanied by other policemen from the unit—would grab guns and hike into the hills. “We started with pistols, and then I gave him an AK-47,” Samad recalled. “He became very good at hitting targets a great distance.”

Samad’s men were impressed—the boy was a natural marksman, and as he graduated to more powerful weapons, he seemed surprisingly unaffected by the recoil of the guns. Before long, Wasil was firing rocket-propelled grenade launchers. “That got him excited,” Samad said. “He was shouting, laughing, and having fun.” Then came mortars, shot from a three-legged stand. Wasil asked his mother to stitch him a police uniform, which he proudly wore nearly everywhere. “He was not on a salary, he was not a legal policeman, but he trained with us,” Samad said.

In some ways, Wasil wasn’t unusual. In Afghanistan, a stew of factors—the intractable poverty, the primacy of family honor, and the high desertion and casualty rates within fighting forces—conspire to press children into war in large numbers, especially as foreign forces have pulled out. Last year, half the police checkpoints surveyed in Uruzgan were staffed by officers under 18, according to researchers from the organization Child Soldiers International.

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COURTESY OF FAMILY

The Taliban, which have stormed back to power in recent years all over the country, have been using child soldiers in even larger numbers than the government. In the north, in the Kunduz province, where the Taliban briefly captured the capital last year, insurgents used the schools to train children to fight on the front lines—instructing them in making and planting IEDs and detonating suicide vests at checkpoints. “The Taliban’s apparent strategy to throw increasing numbers of children into battle is as cynical and cruel as it is unlawful,” said Patricia Gossman, a senior researcher at Human Rights Watch.

Between September 2010 and December 2014, suicide attacks were carried out by 20 boys under the age of 18, according to a report from the U.N. In one incident, an IED was attached to a bicycle that a boy was made to push toward an Afghan National Army vehicle. The blast killed eight civilians as well as the child.

Still, as he joined the growing army of kids being called to fight, Wasil was different. Deeply committed and poised beyond his years, he was eager to fight. And unlike the rest of the child soldiers of the war, Wasil would soon be asked to lead.


By early 2015, Samad had a new reason to let his young nephew inch his way toward the fight: He needed the men. Across Afghanistan, the resurgent Taliban were a gathering threat. It hadn’t helped Samad that some of his own policemen—newly powerful and suddenly unruly—were making the prospect of a return to Taliban rule a bit more enticing to the locals in the valley. Several of his men had been implicated in assaults and robberies. And in a bid to amp up security, his cops increasingly resorted to harsh tactics: They rounded up elders and cut their beards to punish them for cooperating with the Taliban; they ordered the villagers to leave their doors open at night, in case the police wanted to search their homes.

Just 20 miles from the family compound, a force of roughly 2,000 newly emboldened insurgents had ventured from the mountains to besiege the Afghan Local Police’s district headquarters in Khas Uruzgan. From here, the Taliban set their sights on Samad’s unit and the valley from which he’d evicted them three years earlier.

By late May, the Taliban had begun their assault, targeting police checkpoints and forcing Samad’s fighters to withdraw farther and farther. In July, the police gathered their loved ones and planned one last retreat: They’d fall back to Samad’s three-story compound, where Wasil and his family were already ensconced. From there, they’d wait for rescue—or make their final stand.

Primed for what could come, Wasil was wearing the tiny gray police uniform his mother had stitched. He was 11 years old. He’d gotten pretty good with a rifle, but he had never fired a shot in battle, had never experienced the adrenaline rush and the terror of combat. But this was what he’d been training for.

child-warrior-0117-GQ-MOCW03-01.jpg
As the U.S. pulled out of Afghanistan, police units—like Wasil’s—took up the fight against the Taliban.


As the police and the families made their way to the compound, Taliban snipers opened fire on them—killing two policemen and cutting down Samad, who took a pair of bullets, one in the leg.

From the roof of the compound, Wasil could see beyond the walls to where his uncle lay in the dirt, possibly dying; the Taliban were bearing down. Wasil’s uncle Merwais remembers vividly what happened next. He watched Wasil, crouching behind sandbags, take careful aim with a Russian-made machine gun. The boy squeezed the trigger and began working to pin the Taliban in place, buying enough time for the men inside the compound to reach the dead and injured and to haul them in.

A wounded Samad was hustled to a second-floor bedroom, where he named his nephew the surrogate commander. The police unit contained 26 men at that point—and putting a boy in charge as the battle began, Samad told me, made perfect sense. “He was intelligent, brave, and calm under fire, and well trained.”

“You guys are not men,” Wasil screamed over the radio. “Just give us time to take the children out.”

The child leapt to duty, now commanding a makeshift fortress of last resort. Outside, the Taliban soon had the place surrounded, hundreds of them firing from the mountains above and the valley below. Day and night—across what would eventually become a three-week siege—Wasil kept watch from the roof, pointing out Taliban positions to his fellow marksmen. “Wasil was telling the soldiers to go to this position, that position, and giving them ammunition, and shooting the heavy machine gun,” said Merwais. He may have been only a boy, but Wasil cut the figure of the military leader he had now become.

In early August, as Wasil worked from the rooftop, a Taliban gunner sent a rocket-propelled grenade into the thick mud-brick wall on the compound’s second floor. From a corner bedroom rose the smoke and flames of burning mattresses and wooden furniture, as two terrified children trapped inside cried out for help. Throughout the compound, there was confusion, but Wasil was calm. He grabbed a radio receiver and shouted to a Taliban officer on the other end.

“We want a cease-fire,” he screamed, his voice high-pitched and crackling over the radio. “There are two kids in that room, and we need to get them out.”

More shots rang out.

“You guys are not men,” Wasil screamed over the radio. “Just give us time to take the children out.” There was something about Wasil’s insistent tone, his confidence in the face of danger, that the Taliban commander admired. He gave the order that silenced the Taliban’s guns. Wasil had the children pulled from the burning room.

But the truce was short-lived. The hardships stacked up. Food ran low, and Wasil’s men were reduced to eating grass boiled into a kind of porridge. Throughout August, as the siege dragged on, Wasil and Samad pleaded with army commanders and government officials to get them out. But the Taliban held the roads.

Unbeknownst to those trapped in the compound, Taliban engineers had been digging a tunnel toward them. And on August 21, they used it to place about 3.3 tons of explosives beneath the rampart. A deafening explosion blew a hole in one of the mud walls, killing two of the policemen. Amid the confusion, Wasil got on the radio to the chief of police in Tirin Kot. “They’ve broken down the wall. They’re coming to get us. We need a helicopter rescue,” he begged.

Twenty-four hours later, four Russian Mi-17 helicopters filled with Afghan special forces flew out of Tirin Kot toward the compound. A U.S. gunship accompanied them, raining fire on the Taliban and sending them scurrying for cover. The four Mi-17’s touched down in front of the mud fortress, and Afghan soldiers raced inside. Samad, Merwais, 15 more fighters, Samad’s two wives, Wasil, his three brothers, three cousins, and his mother dashed out, ducking low beneath the swirling rotor blades and rising dust, and climbed aboard. A short time afterward, according to the district governor, the Taliban swarmed the compound and burned it to the ground.

“They’re coming to get us. We need a helicopter rescue,” Wasil begged.

The Taliban had taken the compound and the entirety of the valley, but stories were already spreading, tales that would captivate the country. Reports of how Wasil had fired 120 mortar rounds in a single day’s fighting; how he’d manned a Kalashnikov long enough and well enough to take out six Taliban fighters, how he’d coordinated food and ammo drops that saved his soldiers’ lives. Stories spread of how he had negotiated the rescue of those children—and of how, finally, he had arranged that daring evacuation by helicopter. “He fought with the courage of 100 men,” the district governor would say. He was hailed as a “lion”; even the Taliban would speak of him with a measure of respect. But it was too soon to know what that growing fame would eventually inspire.


Wasil stared out of the helicopter as it sailed over green valleys, barreling toward Tirin Kot. “We’re out of danger, we can relax now,” he told his 9-year-old brother, Rabbani. Then, having comforted the boy, he turned back to the disbelieving men who’d just rescued him, the troops from the Afghan special forces who wanted to know how this boy had defended the compound for three harrowing weeks.

Just beyond the gates of Tirin Kot, the chopper zipped over the blast walls of the heavily fortified Afghan National Army base and came to rest on the ground. Rahimullah Khan, then the deputy police chief of the Uruzgan province, was waiting for them at the airfield. The boy, his uniform covered in dust, a sidearm on his waist, shook Khan’s hand and then jumped into the front seat of a police car. “He was tired, and happy to be out of the war,” Khan told me.

Tirin Kot, a sprawl of mud-walled houses, was, then as now, a city under siege. The Afghan government’s control extended for just a few miles beyond the walls. Checkpoints and sandbagged posts ringed the city of 70,000, but Taliban infiltrators had still managed to slip into town and strike periodically, planting IEDs on the streets.

To help ease Wasil back toward normalcy, deputy police chief Khan put the family up in his guarded guesthouse, gave them a monthly stipend, and arranged for Wasil to attend a nearby school. Khan also removed the boy’s sidearm. “The pistol is our enemy,” he told me. “When you have a pistol, you are a target, you are in the fight.”

It wasn’t easy for Wasil to accept that his fight was over. Family members and others who had survived the siege treated him like a legendary warrior. Samad, in particular, was proud of his nephew’s celebrity and wanted to honor him as a hero. He resented anyone who downplayed the boy’s achievements. “We fought with the Taliban for many, many days, fighting 500 people,” he said. “They should have given us medals.”

This sort of hagiography worried Khan, who was stunned to see Wasil’s family play up his heroic exploits on social media. “They said, ‘Wasil did this.’ ‘Wasil did that,’ bragging about the kid, how he killed this person and that person,” he told me. The deputy police chief urged the family to lower the boy’s profile. He was afraid that Wasil’s growing status as a folk hero was likely to put him in the Taliban’s sights. He pleaded with Samad to protect his nephew. But Samad, always ambitious, brushed off the warnings. “The family didn’t accept my help,” Khan told me. “They went the wrong way.”


After a couple of months, Wasil’s family moved out of Khan’s guesthouse, saying that they needed more space. Samad was eager to keep stoking the mythology growing around his nephew and cultivated in the boy a sense that he wasn’t beholden to the same rules that governed other people: He allowed the 11-year-old to drive around town in a police-issue Ford Ranger pickup truck. Khan thought the truck was a bad idea: Giving a boy a police vehicle was hardly going to encourage him to behave like a kid. “I was trying to get Wasil into a school in Kabul to get him more educated,” Khan told me. “But his mind was being changed again.”

Wasil was being pulled in conflicting directions. “He played soccer and cricket, but he was not like a child,” a schoolmate told the press. “He was more like a grown man—always serious.”

Most mornings, after breakfast, Wasil, along with his brothers and cousins, worked for three hours with a tutor who taught English, Persian, and chemistry. And by all accounts, Wasil was making progress—despite a frequent preoccupation with his past life as a soldier. “He was an intelligent guy, with an open mind; he was grasping things quickly,” Wasil’s teacher, Mahmoud Khan, told me. “But he was thinking about guns, he was talking about guns. I told him, ‘You should leave these things behind. You should focus on learning.’ ”

In early February 2016, six months after the siege, Wasil and two of his cousins finished their midday prayers and strolled outside their compound, hoping to buy some fruit. Normally, the family discouraged them from venturing into the streets without police guards, but there was a fruit-and-vegetable stall just across the wide road, a 30-second walk away.

Wasil crossed the road while his two cousins peeled off and headed for another shop. As he inspected the oranges, bananas, and apples and chatted with the grocer, two men on a motorbike pulled up behind Wasil.

Then two pistol shots rang out, and Wasil staggered back. “After the first shot, he was just saying, ‘I’ve been hit.’ Then the second bullet hit him in the head, and he fell,” a witness recounted. “The apples he bought were covered in blood.” The assailants raced off on their bike and disappeared.

“If some kids are seeing this, what will they think? They will just leave the school and tell themselves, ‘I am going to become a hero.’”

At home, Samad had been napping but was roused suddenly by his shouting nephews. “Wasil’s been shot,” they cried. Wasil’s uncle ran outside and saw the boy lying in a pool of blood, unconscious. An ambulance rushed Wasil to the local hospital, and then he was airlifted to Kandahar. Wasil died en route.

The next day, Wasil’s family wrapped his body in a white cloth shroud and bore him in his Ford Ranger to the cemetery. Six hundred people attended his burial. The sight of the small boy’s body moved many to tears. “This was a small child,” the journalist Najeed Lattif, who attended the funeral, told me. Samad was also crying. “He was saying, ‘They killed my right-hand man,’” Lattif said.


Six weeks after Wasil’s assassination, I joined his younger brother Rabbani and his uncle Merwais on a visit to Wasil’s grave. (Samad had relocated to Khas Uruzgan to begin a three-month trial as the district police chief. “He is a good fighter,” Uruzgan’s new governor, Wazeer Khararoti, told me. “He knows how to fight the Taliban, but you have to rein him in like a horse and not let him go so far.”)

We crammed into an armored four-by-four and joined a convoy between a black Land Cruiser and a Humvee filled with a dozen policemen. We reached a barren hillside covered with grave markers—spindly branches strung with decorative flags. The police took up positions, and I followed the uncle and brother to Wasil’s grave, crudely marked with stones, chunks of cement, and two willow branches adorned with colored cloths. It was only temporary, Merwais told me. “We will take him home,” he said, “as soon as Nawa Sultan Mohammed is no longer in the Taliban’s hands.”

child-warrior-0117-GQ-MOCW02-01.jpg
After news spread of Wasil’s feats in battle, his family was urged to downplay the heroics—lest the growing mythology inspire the Taliban to kill the boy.

In the days just after Wasil was shot, as paeans to his bravery flooded social media, the Taliban claimed responsibility for the assassination, according to The Independent. But when I reached the insurgents’ spokesman on the phone, he backed off, saying only that it “was possible” that the Taliban had killed him. He rebuked the Afghan police for encouraging the boy to fight and for then celebrating him as a hero.

That sentiment—that the breathless tales of Wasil’s exploits had contributed to his death—is shared by the region’s governor, Wazeer Khararoti. “He was a child, and we don’t have a right to make him a hero,” he told me. “If some kids are seeing this, what will they think? They will just leave the school and tell themselves, ‘I am going to become a hero.’”

But among the hard men who fight and die in Afghanistan’s violent backcountry, the governor’s perspective is not widely shared. There’s a grudging acceptance of the grim cycles that war perpetuates.

When I was in Kabul, I met with an old mujahideen fighter—a loyal friend of Samad’s—who now serves in parliament. His name is Haji Obaidullah Barakzai, and five years ago a Taliban fighter assassinated his 27-year-old son, as his son—Barakzai’s grandson—watched from a nearby car. The incident was eerily similar to the one that had put Wasil on his path for revenge, and it inspired in this boy the same response. He’s 8 now, and he’s been consumed by one thought. “I want to kill the Taliban who killed my father,” he told me shyly.

Barakzai hadn’t yet taken him to the firing range, but that day, he said, was not far off. “I’m buying plastic guns for the boy,” he told me, “so that he will be ready.”

child-warrior-0117-gq-mocw03-02

child-warrior-0117-gq-mocw02-01

Joshua Hammer wrote about the crash of Germanwings Flight 9525 in the March 2016 issue of GQ.

This piece originally appeared in the January 2017 issue, with the title “The Improbable Life and Stunning Death of a Child Warrior.”

Categories: Middle East, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Just Days Before Leaving Office, Obama Gets News that Could INVALIDATE His Entire Presidency…..


President Barack Obama’s legacy might soon be tarnished beyond repair. The long-awaited results from an in-depth investigation into Obama’s past have just been revealed.

Barack Obama’s birth certificate is a fake… a complete forgery, and now evidence to prove it is headed to Congress. Arizona Sheriff Joe Apraio’s investigation into Obama’s birth certificate found multiple “inconsistencies,” which could allow Congress to impeach the 44th president of the United States even after he leaves office, WND reports.

The forensic investigation into Obama’s birth certificate reportedly proves the “birthers” were right all along! Jerome Corsi, Ph.D., a WND senior staff writer, is credited with forcing the Obama administration to release the document in the first place.

Corsi’s book, Where’s The Birth Certificate?, first brought the Obama birth certificate issue to the public’s attention. The Constitution requires a presidential candidate to be a “natural-born citizen” but does not really define exactly what the entails – meaning even though Obama was born to an American woman, he still might not have qualified to run for the highest office in the land.

“I was raised as an Indonesian child and a Hawaiian child and as a black child and as a white child,” Obama once said, according to a report by the Miller Center. Obama spent four years of his childhood living in Indonesia with his mother and stepfather.

Sheriff Joe Apraio’s forensic investigation into Obama’s birth certificate revealed the document presented to the public appears to be identical to and copied from another birth certificate issued in Hawaii just several days after he was born. The exceedingly similar birth certificate reportedly belongs to Johanna Ah’nee.

The items on the supposed Obama birth certificate, which appear to have been copied from the Johanna Ah’nee birth certificate, include the word “Honolulu,” the word “Oahu” twice, two time stamps, and three different Xs. The identical appearance of the Xs was reportedly of particular interest to forensic investigators.

The Xs would have been placed on the original birth certificate documents by moving a typewriter carriage and rolling over the certificate at the same time. Investigators reportedly found it interesting that the stamp made by Alvin Onaka and the April 25th stamp might have been lifted from another document.

One of the expert forensic investigators who participated in the review of the Obama birth certificate was Reed Hayes. He is a court-qualified document examiner and handwriting examiner.

Reed Hayes also operates a business in Hawaii. He has been on the board of Scientific Association of Forensic Examiners for almost four decades. Forlabs, an Italian company which specializes in extracting details and information from multimedia files, produced the results of the Obama birth certificate forensic investigation.

“We had two experts from two countries in separate disciplines of forensics that came to one conclusion: Barack Obama’s long form birth certificate it not authentic,” the report said.

Mike Zullo, the lead forensic investigator involved with the report, quoted details from the investigation by Hayes: “The (nail in the coffin) that proves that Certificate of Live Birth is inauthentic is the exact lineup of numerous entries on both [certificates].” Zullo added the experts likened the evidence they found to prove the Obama birth certificate is a forgery to being as reliable as a fingerprint.unnamed

Categories: Democrats, Government Secrets, Obama, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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