Feature

Longform’s Picks of the Week

The best stories from around the world.

Every weekend, Longform highlights its favorite international articles of the week. For daily picks of new and classic nonfiction, check out Longform or follow @longform on Twitter. Have an iPad? Download Longform's new app and read all of the latest in-depth stories from dozens of magazines, including Foreign Policy.

The Man Who Killed Osama bin Laden ... Is Screwed
Phil Bronstein • Esquire

A profile of the Navy Seal who killed Osama bin Laden and came home to a life in shambles.

"No one who fights for this country overseas should ever have to fight for a job," Barack Obama said last Veterans' Day, "or a roof over their head, or the care that they have earned when they come home."

But the Shooter will discover soon enough that when he leaves after sixteen years in the Navy, his body filled with scar tissue, arthritis, tendonitis, eye damage, and blown disks, here is what he gets from his employer and a grateful nation:

Nothing. No pension, no healthcare for his wife and kids, no protection for himself or his family.

Mario Tama/Getty Images

 

How Napoleon Chagnon Became Our Most Controversial Anthropologist
Emily Eakin • New York Times

An anthropologist who made his name studying an isolated tribe is one of the most revered and reviled figures in his field.

In turning the Yanomami into the world's most famous "unacculturated" tribe, Chagnon also turned the romantic image of the "noble savage" on its head. Far from living in harmony with one another, the tribe engaged in frequent chest-pounding duels and deadly inter-village raids; violence or threat of violence dominated social life. The Yanomami, he declared, "live in a state of chronic warfare."

The phrase may be the most contested in the history of anthropology. Colleagues accused him of exaggerating the violence, even of imagining it -- a projection of his aggressive personality. As Chagnon's fame grew -- his book became a standard text in college courses -- so did the complaints.

LEO RAMIREZ/AFP/GettyImages


The Double Agent Who Infiltrated Al Qaeda
Orla Borg, Carsten Ellegaard Christensen, Morten Pihl • The Daily Beast

The agent who received no credit for helping to capture al-Awlaki tells his story.

The men sit down to eat a breakfast of tea and dates when a sound from the sky unnerves them. It's the morning of Sept. 30, 2011. And the sound the men are hearing is the sound of two unmanned drones, sent from a secret U.S. military base somewhere in the Arabian Peninsula. As the men start running back toward the pickup trucks, they are struck by Hellfire missiles fired from the drones. None survive.

In Washington, President Obama hails the assassination as "another significant milestone in the broader effort to defeat al Qaeda."

Unmentioned in the subsequent news accounts detailing the hunt for Awlaki is the unlikely double agent who infiltrated the innermost circles of al Qaeda in Yemen-a burly, redheaded, 37-year-old Dane who appears to have been a central character in a bizarre U.S.-Danish mission to track down the terror leader.

AHMAD GHARABLI/AFP/Getty Images

 

'Imagine the Worst Possible Scenario': Why a Guantanamo Prosecutor Withdrew From the Case
Jess Bravin • The Atlantic

On the torture of one prisoner and the lawyer who couldn't prosecute him.

Couch was convinced that Slahi had spent years organizing the Qaeda network in Europe, culminating with recruitment of the Hamburg cell that supplied hijackers for 9/11. If any detainee deserved the death penalty, it was Slahi.

Yet Couch hesitated. He ruminated for weeks. Was the United States justified in beating Slahi, in subjecting him to isolation, sensory deprivation, temperature extremes, and sexual humiliation? Was it justified in constructing elaborate scenarios that literally put the fear of death in him, convincing him that he was about to be killed?

One threat, Couch believed, was the worst of all: To have his mother raped.

MICHELLE SHEPHARD/AFP/Getty Images

 

Gay Paris
Eric Pape • Foreign Policy

France and the fight over same-sex marriage.

In a de facto filibuster effort, France's conservative opposition introduced 5,000 amendments to slow down the legislative process. In recent days, anti-gay-marriage forces even orchestrated a brief protest traffic jam to block the Champs-Élysées. Looking ahead, they plan mass protests in the spring when their allies in the French Senate may seek to create further obstacles.

But such efforts are almost certainly doomed to failure. President François Hollande, who made "marriage for all" a core issue of his candidacy, has a substantial majority in Parliament. And politically, clear action and real-world results can only help a head of state whose first eight months in office left many people here with an impression of hapless indecisiveness. His strong choice to intervene in Mali -- which has so far gone well -- has put wind in his sails, and satisfying his same-sex marriage and gay-adoption pledge would add to his newfound momentum.

KENZO TRIBOUILLARD/AFP/Getty Images

Feature

Don't Fear the Migrants

What America really needs to worry about is when they stop coming.

U.S. President Barack Obama probably didn't have Chunyun in mind when he pressed for immigration reform during his recent State of the Union address. During China's annual spring festival travel season, or Chunyun, approximately 200 million Chinese -- give or take a few million -- make like salmon and return from the industrial centers on China's coast to their ancestral homes farther inland (with a few going against the flow from rural areas to the cities in which they or their families grew up). It's the world's biggest annual human migration, and 2013 promises to be a record-breaker: An estimated 3.4 billion journeys will take place in the roughly 40-day period around the Chinese New Year, more than ever before, and way up from 2 billion in 2006.

China's Chunyun is almost entirely domestic. But it illustrates the importance of allowing people to flow from poorer areas to richer ones. Under Mao Zedong's rule for most of the second half of the 20th century, it was very difficult for rural Chinese to move to cities. Liberalizing this system, thereby allowing poor farmers to find jobs in factories, has probably done more than anything else to drive China's economic growth over the past few decades. But the annual Chunyun -- the return to home -- also shows that migration is never a one-way street.

In the first State of the Union of his second term, Obama pledged to offer undocumented migrants a path to citizenship. Taking the initiative to erase the legal limbo that currently ensnares the more than 11 million "unauthorized immigrants" is more than just socially expedient -- it's also a savvy political move. The president's Democratic Party would ensconce itself firmly in public opinion as pro-reform, sticking the Republicans with three election-losing labels it will find hard to shake: angry, old, and white. And it makes cold, hard economic sense: One credible estimate put the gains from comprehensive immigration reform at $1.5 trillion over the next decade.

The dizzying logistics of both Chunyun and Obama's immigration reform ambitions only hint at the enormity of the migratory phenomenon. In 2000, there were only 150 million migrants globally; by 2010, that number had skyrocketed to 214 million, just over 3 percent of the world's population -- and that's just counting the international migrants. China alone has about as many internal migrants; globally, an additional 740 million people live and work far away from home, but inside their own country of birth. Roughly one in eight of Earth's 7 billion human inhabitants is a migrant. Across other parts of the globe, several smaller Chunyun oscillate to the rhythm of the seasons: between North America and Central America, from Germany to Turkey and back, and from the conurbations of the Arabian Peninsula to the villages of East Asia. The money sent back the same way helps the world go round: The sum of remittances sent home by migrants in 2010-- $440 billion -- constitutes about 1.5 percent of gross world product.

But for many on the receiving end of these migratory flows, these human incursions represent the clippety-clop of the Apocalypse. Didn't the Roman Empire -- the paragon of a dominant civilization weakening into collapse -- crumble under the pressure of swarming, hungrier peoples with scant disregard for its immigration policy? That period in history, from about A.D. 400 to 800, is so darkened by shudder-to-think retrospect that it is also known by its Wagnerian nickname, the Völkerwanderung. On a smaller scale, the trauma of ethnic displacement still haunts Serbian, Greek, and other Balkan nationals.

And -- cue the ominous orchestra -- these days the barbarians are motorized, most of them arriving by planes, trains, and automobiles. The fearful, nativist pamphlet writes itself. But the picture -- then as now -- is more subtle. In the 19th century, geographer E.G. Ravenstein -- himself a migrant from Germany to Britain -- proposed a set of laws of human migration. Arguably, the most relevant is "Every migration flow generates a return or countermigration," but the easiest to spot is his law that large towns grow by migration rather than by natural increase -- in other words, by migration rather than births.

Indeed, the ethnic composition of Europe's large cities is rapidly differentiating itself from those of their surrounding countrysides. Half the inhabitants of Rotterdam, Europe's biggest port city, have roots outside the Netherlands. In 2009, as a first in the Netherlands, and for any major European city, a foreign-born practicing Muslim became the mayor there. It is the shape of things to come. As the 2011 British census confirmed, the share of those identifying themselves as "white British" has dropped below 50 percent in London.

These changes confirm rather than contradict age-old trends. The other "native-Dutch" half of Rotterdam itself is largely the result of an influx of Brabanders in the 19th century, when the booming port attracted internal migrants from that rural part of the Netherlands (Brabant). So yesterday's migratory upheaval -- damn these swarms of Brabanders! -- is today's sepia-tinted nostalgia: Remember when Rotterdam was all Brabander? The past that some long for was itself in flux, and uncomfortably "modern." As stated in historian Peter Ackroyd's seminal biography of Britain's capital, Londoners in the past were known for their darker than Anglo-Saxon complexion, due to historical admixtures of Mediterranean, Semitic, and even more exotic blood. Meanwhile, that same British census reports that Polish is now England's second language.

Before 1989, Poland and Britain were on either side of what seemed an almost impermeable continental divide, both ideological and physical. Tucked away behind that Iron Curtain, Poland might as well have been on the moon. The Polish community in Britain then was tiny enough to be exotic and was so old that it was nearing extinction: Most were Free Poles stranded after World War II, unwilling to return to a homeland that had turned communist.

But because Poland's 2004 accession to the European Union erased travel restrictions, half a million Poles have come to live and work in Britain, doing the menial and manual labor that the offspring of previous migrants no longer feel like doing. After the fall of communism, Western Europe in general and Britain in particular became the target of a massive migration from Eastern Europe, including Russia and beyond: The migrants converging on Calais, France, in the hope of crossing the English Channel to seek asylum in Britain now come from as far away as Afghanistan, Iraq, and Bangladesh.

If an outpouring of Poles, Balts, and others would have seemed outlandish before 1989, it should not have surprised anyone with a basic grasp of the differences in GDP between east and west. Migrations follow a basic pattern, like weather systems: The world economy is seeking equilibrium by pulling poor people toward rich regions (and by pushing expensive manufacturing to cheaper parts of the world). This helps explain why economically rich but population-poor countries like Saudi Arabia, Singapore, and Qatar house such high percentages of migrant workers: 28 percent, 41 percent, and 87 percent, respectively.

If migration is perennial, one thing has changed with the advent of modern transport and communications: The experience has become both more transient and more permanent. The "old country" has become portable: Satellite dishes and frequent trips back home have created a third country, a hybrid mix of origin and destination. Those Poles now at home in Britain's big cities travel back to the Ojczyzna (Homeland) in such numbers and in such frequency that the security announcements on the ferry from the port of Dover to continental Europe are now in Polish, as well as in English and French.

But as angry, old, white Britain complains it is being taken over by Johnny Foreigner -- be he a Pole or Pakistani -- a bit of Blighty is also leaking back into Warsaw and Karachi. While the British right-wing press will continue to pigeonhole them in the crude stereotypes associated with Eastern Europeans, the returnees bring with them a whiff of the reverse: the British je ne sais quoi, composed of equal parts fair play, free enterprise, and a firsthand knowledge of English football fandom. Poland's first non-expat cricket team has been up and running for several years now, while remigrants from Britain are creating "Little Englands" in Pakistan.

Ravenstein was right about that countermigration. And as Western economies continue to sputter, that phenomenon is set to increase in importance. In 2010, 40,000 migrants left Germany for Turkey, 10,000 more than the other way around -- reversing a decades-old trend.

The people traveling in either direction are ethnic Turks, but remigration need not necessarily involve the same people. Case in point: the population flow between Portugal and Angola. The former colonizer is one of the weaker performers in Europe's snail's-pace race to recovery, with youth unemployment hovering just below 40 percent. Portuguese Prime Minister Pedro Passos Coelho despairingly even suggested to his unemployed citizens in December 2011 that they emigrate to find work. Meanwhile, the oil-fueled economy of Portugal's former colony has grown robustly in the last few years, and GDP growth is expected to burst into double digits again in 2013. So, while in the 1970s and 1980s many thousands of Angolans fled their country's civil war to find work and shelter in Portugal, over the last decade the tide has turned: An estimated 100,000 Portuguese have migrated to Angola.

Undoubtedly, migration on such a scale is bound to annoy and antagonize more than a few Angolans, who are likely to complain that the Portuguese are now stealing their jobs and that their presence undermines the moral fiber and social cohesion of Angolan society. But the Angolan example of Ravenstein's law on the reversibility of migration patterns should be instructive of a more positive aspect of migration.

Economic migrants follow opportunities; countries facing a decrease in unsolicited immigration are in much deeper trouble than those trying to keep them out. Those who interpret Obama's proposals for immigration reform as a fatal opening of the floodgates -- with the Rio Grande as a latter-day version of Rome's punctured Rhine border -- miss the point: The flow of unauthorized immigrants into the United States has already stopped. In fact, it might even be reversing. From 2000 to 2005, net migration from Mexico to the United States stood at over 2 million. But from 2005 to 2010, only 1.4 million Mexicans moved to the United States -- and the exact same number (1.4 million) moved back again to Mexico. The end of a decades-old trend is due to stricter enforcement, but also fewer economic opportunities for Mexicans in the United States.

Perhaps the skills brought home by Mexico's emigrants will help establish long-term economic trends that will see Americans crossing the Rio Grande into Mexico before long -- establishing an annual Thanksgiving Chunyun from Mexico's industrial heartlands to the backwater towns of North America.

John Moore/Getty Images