Showing posts with label American Club Peshawar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Club Peshawar. Show all posts

Thursday, 25 February 2016

Stephen Masty, communications adviser - obituary

I first met Steve Masty in a club in Peshawar. He was managing the Khyber Club. It was late 1993, Steve was lounging in a wicker chair, wearing white Shalwar Kemeez, looking like a young Hemmingway. I used every drop of charm and decorum I had to try and get club membership as I knew I was going to work some years in Afghanistan and wanted membership badly, as it was the only place in this fundamentalist frontier city one could have a wee dram when visiting.

“No problem, “ he smiled. This was the start of a friendship that has lasted ever since.

What a talented man: Song writer, movie director, singer, author, artist, poet, development specialist, cartoonist and raconteur. He once was a speech writer for Ronald Reagan, Steve studied for a PhD at St. Andrews in Scotland and his thesis lies there unmarked.

In 2006 he published a book called The Muslim & Microphone: Miscommunications in the War on Terror (Social Affairs Unit, London, 2006). An astounding book.

Our relationship bonded strongly during the tough winter in Kabul in 1995 when the Taliban were relentlessly bombarding the city. I recall spending many winter evenings with Steve discussing literature, history, local savagery and world politics. I would often prompt Steve to get out his guitar and sing one of his songs about Afghanistan. Steve  and I spent the year of 1994 in Afghanistan together midst death and destruction. We saw in the New Year of 1995 together and celebrated with a bottle of cheap Russian vodka and sang Auld Lang Syne, a version that Steve had modified.


Since 1993, Steve dropped in to see me in Delhi and Dhake where I was living at that time, and I visited him in London in 1998 with my wife to be, Naila. When we arrived at a posh hotel in London, Steve had told the manager that a very famous and beautiful Kazakh Princess was arriving from Kazakhstan, and that they should address her as Princess Naila or H.R.H. Naila was amazed at the Royal treatment she received.

Steve, Kees Rietveld, Naila and I went to the London Musical 'Showboat' and a few days later went to Grenwich where we discovered a bookshop with a run of over one hundred Central Asian Journals that Steve and I divided between us. I have many cartoons that Steve drew for Naila and I.

When I heard that Steve died on Boxing Day 2015, I hoped someone would write a decent obituary of his life. Just recently I found the Daily Telegraph did that on 06 January 2016.

It is below.


Stephen Masty, communications adviser - obituary

Globe-trotting writer and adventurer who championed privatisation in the developing world

Steve Masty in central Asia
Steve Masty in central Asia Photo: Lisa Schiffren
Stephen Masty, who has died aged 61, was a speech writer to Ronald Reagan, a communications adviser who successfully sold reform to the developing world, an author, cartoonist, musician, song-writer, journalist, film-maker, and one of clubland’s more engaging raconteurs.
He also spent many years in Afghanistan and his work there gave an early warning of the rise of Islamic extremism.
Stephen James Masty was born in Grosse Point, on the edge of Detroit in Michigan, on December 12 1954. His father was a dentist and his mother a nurse. Stephen attended Seaholm High School in Birmingham, Michigan, before reading English Literature at Hillsdale College, also in his home state; there he became a friend and protégé of Russell Kirk, the American conservative guru. Stephen went on to St Andrews in Scotland (which Kirk had attended) to do a PhD on the South African poet Roy Campbell.
According to one account, however, he did not set foot in the English department, meet his supervisor or do one jot of “research”, preferring to spend his time in the Cross Keys Bar, smoking and treating friends to such conceits as “The History of Western Philosophy in Limericks”.
He became president of the university’s Conservative association, reviving what he said was the ancient St Andrews tradition of burning heretics in effigy; heretics in Masty’s view being anti-Thatcherite “wets” or Left-wingers. He also found himself regularly in argument with fellow student and future SNP leader Alex Salmond.
One of Steve Masty's cartoonsOne of Steve Masty's cartoons
At that time Masty met Madsen Pirie and Eamonn Butler, who would later found the Adam Smith Institute. He then went to live in Washington and wrote a weekly political column for the Washington Times. He also worked for the Republican National Committee, his duties including speech-writing for Ronald Reagan. Masty was responsible for many of Reagan’s jokes as well as for some of the president’s stronger Cold War messages and a well-regarded Lincoln Day address.
Amid all the thrusting ambition in Washington Masty struck a contrast with most of his contemporaries. “His dress and mannerisms made it look as though he had strayed by mistake out of the 1930s,” noted a friend.
He first started spending time in Afghanistan, in rebel-held territory, in the mid-1980s. After the Soviet withdrawal, he spent much of his time, from 1989, in that country helping on development projects.
He worked with a US charity called the Mercy Fund and taught people how to defuse the unexploded devices with which the Soviets had littered the country. A talented cartoonist, he used his skills in leaflets teaching Afghan children how to avoid these devices.
He went on to manage the American Club in Peshawar, nightly entertaining guests with witty satirical songs about the region’s idiosyncrasies. He invented a new genre which he called “Country and Eastern” (“like Willie Nelson in a turban,” a friend said). He was also a formidable punster.
Masty was in Kabul (where for a time he owned the Afghan bottling rights for Coca-Cola) when the city was finally captured by the Taliban in 1996. He did his best to alert the West to the dangers of Islamic extremism, but once the West did begin to respond he argued that the issue was being mishandled, and moderate Muslims were being alienated. In 2006 he published The Muslim & Microphone: Miscommunications in the War on Terror.
Stephen MastyStephen Masty
During the 1990s Masty developed a career as a communications adviser, championing economic reform to governments across the developing world. He persuaded them to implement privatisation programmes in Andhra Pradesh and Orissa in India as well as in Nepal, Tanzania, Nigeria and Guyana.
He produced a series of films that were shown to Indian politicians – including the federal cabinet – illustrating starkly the failure of state enterprises; the films played a pivotal role in persuading them to start serious privatisation efforts.
In Tanzania he used music to get the message across, producing probably the world’s first privatisation rock video, featuring Captain John Komba, a local politician, and explaining why privatising the state brewery would be good for everyone. It became an unlikely hit. Overnight the shortage of beer began to ease and thousands of jobs were created for waiters, now that they had beer to sell.
Back in Kabul early in the new century he advised the government of Hamid Karzai (whom he had known for many years) on policy issues, and promoted the idea that peace and prosperity could be achieved by encouraging tribesmen to grow melons, grapes and pomegranates rather than opium poppies.
In later years Masty settled in Kathmandu. He assisted with electrification projects, a cause he felt strongly about, and started a project to introduce the first children’s comics in the Nepalese language. But plans were disrupted by the earthquake in Nepal last year, which forced him to move out of his apartment.
He was an intensely private man. He did not like to own property, and generally lived in rented rooms of fabled squalor. He avoided all romantic commitments. Always rotund, resembling Sidney Greenstreet in Casablanca, Masty said that his tragedy was that he had the mind of Holmes yet the body of Watson.
Masty could be accident-prone. On one occasion, staying with the writer Roger Lewis and his wife, he drank too much and in the night tried to relieve himself out of the window – but he had not opened the double-glazing. The Lewises had to repaint the wall.
He was at his finest in a bar or restaurant, telling his stories, drinking Manhattan cocktails and chain smoking. He had ambitions to be a novelist or writer for films and television, but his novels did not find a publisher, and he tended to dissipate his genius in chat, an exception being the witty blogs he wrote for the Imaginative Conservative website. Ill health dogged his final years.
He did privately publish one novel, called The Test of the Magi, adopting the pseudonym Johannes Bergmann, who “makes his home in the forests of the Low Countries and the lesser Himalayas”.
Steve Masty eventually took British citizenship and when in London lived at the Savile Club, where some of his cartoons hang and where his exotic aura prompted many fellow members to wonder whether he was an intelligence agent, though he vehemently denied it.
Steve Masty, born December 12 1954, died December 26 2015

Monday, 7 May 2012

The American Club Peshawar

The American Club (in Peshawar) was populated by a peculiar group of colorful ex-patriots: journalists, aid workers, would-be spies, and political operatives. The strongest presence at the club was a clique of journalists who covered the Afghan war with a markedly pro-American intervention bias. Key players of this group in the late 1980s included Kurt Lohbeck of CBS News, his girlfriend Anne Hurd of Mercy Fund (a pro-Mujahideen charity), and Steve Masty, an independent journalist and writer. For years their reporting had been nurturing a positive image of the Mujahideen in the American press. They portrayed the Afghan fighters as noble warriors fighting solely to liberate their country from brutal Soviet invaders and their puppet Marxist government.

from the Spy of the Heart by Robert Abdul Hayy Darr click here

Brilliant musicians gathered at the American Club, and so many were of Irish descent. I frequented this establishment regularly between 1993-96 and the photos were taken in that era.

Sean pictured below, must have been the most colourful of them all, with an amazing voice. But with the passage of time, I have forgotten the names of other performers who appear in the photos below. If you know the names of any of these characters, please make a comment in the section at the end.


Sean, the Irish Australian singer who played the banjo so well.








                Some good old boys sat in a circle near the bar singing songs poking fun at the Mujahideen to popular 1960s melodies strummed on the guitar. Laughter and shouts added rhythm to the songs as they floated across the smoke-filled room and mixed with the clanging of glasses and bottles, fuel for the party atmosphere.



All sorts of groups formed at the bar and I became a member of a paragliding club that practiced at Kohat.



I first met Steve Masty (left) in Peshawar He was managing the American Club. It was late 1993, He was louging in a wicker chair, wearing white Shalwar Kemeez and chatting to a friend. I used every drop of charm and decorum. I possessed as I was going to work some years in Afghanistan and wanted membership to the club, as it was the only place in this fundamentalist frontier city one could have a wee dram when visiting.


"No problem, “ he smiled. This was the start of a friendship that has lasted ever since.

What a talented man: Song writer, movie director, singer, author, once a speech writer for Ronald Reegan, Steve did a PhD in Scottish literature in Edinburgh.

To describe the  of that era I quote from the Spy of the Heart by Robert Abdul Hayy Darr

Chapter 11. A Loss of Face


The first evening back in Peshawar, I walked ten minutes along the main avenue to the nearest ice-cream parlor to claim the treat I had been thinking about for the last few months. I was still exhausted from my trip to northern Afghanistan, but excited by the prospect of meeting some friends at the local gathering place for ex-patriots of all descriptions. The American Club was located in University Town, the nicest and safest neighborhood in Peshawar, on a large parcel of well-watered land planted with all kinds of trees and flowers that thrived in the heat of the Subcontinent. The club building was a simple two-story cement structure, square in appearance like most of the buildings in the neighborhood, but considerably larger. The club is where journalists and aid workers from all over the world met for drinks and talk.


Some good old boys sat in a circle near the bar singing songs poking fun at the Mujahideen to popular 1960s melodies strummed on the guitar. Laughter and shouts added rhythm to the songs as they floated across the smoke-filled room and mixed with the clanging of glasses and bottles, fuel for the party atmosphere. The consumption of alcohol was no small part of club life.

Alcohol was by law forbidden to Pakistani Muslims, but within the confines of the club, Scotch whiskey and American triumphalism flowed freely. I could smell it on the breath of the guests and in the sweat in the air. I could hear the unreason of alcohol in the livelier-than-usual conversations, sometimes unduly insistent, but often quirky and amusing, here at happy hour central. The lampooning of the Mujahideen and their leaders was just part of the usual night of fun at the American Club.

It felt very strange to be back here after my recent mission to remote northern Afghanistan. As desperate as things were in the famine area and as agitated as I had been working with the various parties of that conflict, those experiences felt solid and meaningful compared to this social carnival.


I always felt out of place when I stepped into the club. I didn’t drink or smoke, I didn’t enjoy small talk and gossip. When staying in Peshawar, I usually remained with the Afghan staff that I worked with, even into the evening. This was partly because my office and living quarters were in the same compound as those of our foundation’s local manager, Mohammed Ali. Only a wall running down the middle of the compound separated us. I was delighted by the opportunity to learn about Afghan culture and language as fully and quickly as I could.

There were times that I could not avoid going to the American Club to meet colleagues, and for special events. Our foundation, the Afghan Cultural Assistance Foundation, occasionally made presentations on Afghan poetry and music at the American Club. We would also take the foundation’s refugee-made crafts to sell there on certain evenings.

The American Club was populated by a peculiar group of colorful ex-patriots: journalists, aid workers, would-be spies, and political operatives. The strongest presence at the club was a clique of journalists who covered the Afghan war with a markedly pro-American intervention bias. Key players of this group in the late 1980s included Kurt Lohbeck of CBS News, his girlfriend Anne Hurd of Mercy Fund (a pro-Mujahideen charity), and Steve Masty, an independent journalist and writer. For years their reporting had been nurturing a positive image of the Mujahideen in the American press. They portrayed the Afghan fighters as noble warriors fighting solely to liberate their country from brutal Soviet invaders and their puppet Marxist government.

This certainly was true in a general sense. The irrepressible Afghan will to drive out the invader was both heart-wrenching and inspiring to witness throughout the early years of that conflict. Yet a shadow was falling across this bright picture of bravery, a pall of sectarian and interethnic warfare and the emergence of those with a literalist, militant interpretation of Islam. Theft, murder, drug smuggling, and the oppressive reign of petty warlords also darkened this image of the struggle for freedom. Yet none of these issues were adequately addressed by the press. The Peshawar clique was partly responsible for this inattention to detail. Its members were fully engaged in describing a simple military struggle. For many of these journalists and politically-motivated aid workers, the Afghan Mujahideen were doing what the Cold War had been unable to do: bring down the “Evil Empire.”

I met Lohbeck at the Club sometime in 1987. My first impressions of him left me amused and wary. He presented himself as an authority on all aspects of the Afghan conflict. Over time I observed that, although he did have many Afghan acquaintances, he did not speak Persian or Pashto. He was like most foreigners to the region, a “special case” for Afghans who relax the social rules in the presence of Westerners like Lohbeck in order to better understand them while trying to obtain their help. Lohbeck weighed in on conversations about the war and American policy in the region, with a particular bias on which Afghan leaders he thought were worthy of support. His own support for Commander Abdul Haq was really unquestioned. He glowingly portrayed Abdul Haq as the liberator of Afghanistan and its likely future president because, he said, all the other commanders accepted Abdul Haq’s authority. I knew that this assertion was really far from the truth (though I wish it had been true—Commander Abdul Haq was one of the few commanders who was both a good military strategist and ethically beyond serious reproach). But because of Lohbeck’s bias, I naturally came to question, like many others, whether he had the objectivity necessary for good journalism

Sunday, 12 August 2007

Steve Masty

(Steve in Istanbul)
When you live in interesting places, many odd people drop in to see us. Steve Masty, a larger than life character dropped in to see me last weekend in New Delhi before I left for Geneva and, a week later, Steve is here for lunch before he returns to London.

I first met Steve Masty in a club in Peshawar He was managing the Khyber Club. It was late 1993, Steve was lounging in a wicker chair, wearing white Shalwar Kemeez, looking like a young Hemmingway. I used every drop of charm and decorum I had to try and get club membership as I knew I was going to work some years in Afghanistan and wanted membership badly, as it was the only place in this fundamentalist frontier city one could have a wee dram when visiting.

“No problem, “ he smiled. This was the start of a friendship that has lasted ever since.

What a talented man: Song writer, movie director, singer, author, artist, poet, development specialist, cartoonist and raconteur. He once was a speech writer for Ronald Reagan, Steve studied for a PhD at St. Andrews in Scotland and his thesis lies there unmarked.

Last year he published a book called The Muslim & Microphone: Miscommunications in the War on Terror (Social Affairs Unit, London, 2006). An astounding book.

Our relationship bonded strongly during the tough winter in Kabul in 1995 when the Taliban were relentlessly bombarding the city. I recall spending many winter evening with Steve discussing literature, history, local savagery and world politics. I would often prompt Steve to get out his guitar and sing one of his songs about Afghanistan. Sadly, he just left for London. I am alone with my thoughts.