Ukraine War

* The U.S. rejected a "surprise move" by Poland to transfer its 28
MiG-29 fighter jets to the U.S. "immediately and free of charge" so the U.S.
could figure out how to get them to Ukraine.
* The U.S. explained its rejection of the offer by saying it does "not
believe Poland's proposal is a tenable one:" besides the challenges of
rekitting the planes for non-NATO Ukrainian pilots to fly them, Russia is
likely to see their transfer from the U.S. to Ukraine as an act of war.
* Analysts generally agree that Russia will eventually prevail over
Ukraine militarily, but Pres. Zelensky appears increasingly willing to make
minor concessions to avoid the worst-case outcome of Russia fully capturing
Ukraine. Zelensky said he'd "cooled" on the idea of Ukraine joining NATO,
and indicated that he'd consider ceding separatist-controlled territories to
Russia.
* The NYT points out that Russia's slow progress in Ukraine is giving
hope to European militaries that had previously feared Russia.



International Reaction

* Pres. Biden announced an imminent ban on U.S. imports of Russian
coal, gas, and oil, even though the ban will mean higher U.S. gasoline
prices (the average U.S. price is now at a new record of $4.17 per gallon).
* Biden warned Americans that "defending freedom is going to cost,"
and sought to deflect blame for higher prices by calling it "Putin's price
hike."
* The UK and EU are more reliant on Russian energy than the U.S., so
they settled for milder measures than Biden's immediate ban: the UK said it
would phase out Russian oil imports by year end, and the EU said it would do
so in the coming years.
* McDonald's, Coca-Cola, Pepsico, and Starbucks all temporarily paused
their operations in Russia.
* The EU said it will formally consider membership applications from
Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova-all of which applied right after Russia
invaded Ukraine.
* The move is merely a technical step, but it's symbolically important
because it suggests existing EU members like France and the Netherlands who
had long opposed the bloc's expansion are starting to come around to the
idea after being appalled by Russia's war in Ukraine.



Afghanistan

* Taliban and Iranian border guards exchanged fire for several hours
in Nimroz. The skirmish reportedly started when Iranian guards crossed into
Afghanistan in an effort to try to stop Afghan farmers from digging a canal
(the Iranians probably suspected the canal was for smuggling, since
smuggling-of drugs, money, and people-is common in that area).
* On a related note, a NYT article pasted below profiles the smuggling
trade in Nimroz.



Libya

* Sharara and El-Feel oilfields resumed production yesterday, two days
after armed rebels closed valves at both fields. The fields produce a
combined 330,000 barrels per day, worth around $35 million per day.
* Turkey reportedly offered to mediate between Libya's two rival
governments, but PM Dbeibah rejected the offer and instead warned that he
was ready to use military means to win the showdown with PM Bashagha (who
accepted Turkey's offer).



Venezuela

* Venezuela released at least two imprisoned Americans in a show of
good faith following meetings in Caracas with senior U.S. officials. The men
are Gustavo Cardenas, a Citgo executive arrested in 2017, and Jose Alberto
Fernandez, who was detained on "terrorism" charges in 2021 for bringing a
drone into Venezuela.



The Smugglers' Paradise of Afghanistan (NYT)

For decades, the smuggling trade - of people, drugs and money - has
dominated Nimruz Province. Now, as hundreds of thousands of Afghans try to
flee, business has further boomed for those who hold the keys to the gate.

The smuggler barreled down the narrow dirt road, bouncing into craters and
over rocks that jutted out from the scrubland. His headlights were off and
as the car picked up speed, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel
trying to wrestle it under his control.

It was just after 1 a.m. in this corner of southwest Afghanistan and a full
moon drenched the desert dunes a dim, white glow. Hours earlier, the
smuggler struck a deal with an Iranian security guard to send 40 Afghans
across the nearby border that night.

Now a few miles down the road, the migrants hid in a ravine waiting for his
signal to run.

"I'm coming, I'm near the border, wait a minute!" he screamed into his phone
and slammed on the accelerator, kicking up plumes of dust that disappeared
into the darkness.

It was a typical night's work for the smuggler, H., who asked to go by only
his first initial because of the illegal nature of his business. A
broad-shouldered man with a booming voice, H. is one of a handful of
kingpins that effectively run Nimruz Province, which abuts the borders with
Iran and Pakistan and is the country's epicenter for all things illegal.

For decades, the smuggling trade - of people, drugs and money - has
dominated the economy here, flushing cash into an otherwise desolate stretch
of Afghanistan where endless desert blends into a washed-out sky. Now, as
hundreds of thousands of Afghans try to flee the country, fearing
persecution from the Taliban or starvation from the country's economic
collapse, business has boomed for people smugglers like H. who hold the keys
to the gate.

But as migrants flood into the province, the obstacles that smugglers face
have multiplied: Since the former government collapsed, Iran has bolstered
its border security while the Taliban have tried to sever the migrant route
H. has mastered, one of two migrants use to sneak into Iran.

Journalists with The New York Times spent 24 hours with H. to see how the
illicit trade that has long run this corner of Afghanistan endures even now.

12:45 A.M.

"Did the refugees arrive? How many are they?" H. called out to an
auto-rickshaw driver who drove past him earlier that night. He nodded at the
driver's response - three migrants - and sped off to collect two young boys
he had agreed to send across the border with his cousin before dawn.

It was a more frantic night than usual, he explained, owing to a last-minute
deal with an Iranian border guard who he promised $35 for each Afghan who
crossed the border. That set off a scramble to gather 40 migrants from
smuggler-owned hotels in the nearby city, Zaranj, and to bring them to one
of H.'s desert safe houses, little more than abandoned-looking mud brick
buildings with dirt floors and rusted tin roofs. Now they were converging at
a rendezvous point near the border, waiting for the code word - "grapes" -
to slip to Iranian security forces on the other side.

Every step of the operation is at once nerve-racking and familiar, frenzied
and meticulously planned, H. explained. Every few minutes, he fielded calls
to one of his three phones and shouted instructions to the many accomplices
needed to pull off the night's deal.

After the two boys jumped in his car, H. raced back to give the smugglers
escorting his group of migrants the all clear and then met his cousin on the
side of a winding path nearby, flashing the headlights as he pulled up.

"I brought some special refugees," H. yelled, referring to the young boys
whose parents, both addicts, had recently overdosed. H.'s cousin, a suave
26-year-old with one headphone perpetually dangling from his ear, stepped
out of his car and into H.'s headlights, grinning.

A former soldier in the Afghan National Army, the cousin used to smuggle
drugs into Iran - raking in much more than his meager government salary.
Once, he bragged, he sneaked 420 kilograms - nearly 1,000 pounds - of opium
into Iran without getting caught. When the former government collapsed, he
went into people smuggling full-time.

Turning around to the young boys in the car, H. told them that the man was
their uncle and he would take them across the border to be reunited with
other relatives living in Iran. The younger boy, Mustafa, 5, wiped the car's
fogged up window with his sleeve to get a better look at the man. His older
brother, Mohsin, 9, was less skeptical.

"When I grow up I want to be a smuggler," he pronounced before hopping out
of the car.

We had agreed to meet H. for lunch the following day and woke up to the
sounds of a bustling city. H. had told us about this changing of the guard
each dawn, when smugglers slipping across the lunar flatlands return home
and the center of life shifts to Zaranj, where buses unload thousands of
Afghans each day.

Along the main drag, newcomers buy kebabs from street vendors and sit around
plastic tables, eager to learn more about the grueling journey ahead. Others
peruse shops selling scarves, hats and winter coats - all necessary, the
shopkeepers say, to survive the cold desert nights along the migrant trail.

Even in the daylight, an aura of paranoia and mistrust permeates Zaranj - a
city of liars and thieves, residents say. Nearly everyone who lives here is
somehow connected to the smuggling trade from bigwigs like drug runners and
arms dealers to informant paid a few dollars a day by men like H. It is the
kind of place where people constantly check their rearview mirrors for tails
and speak in hushed tones lest the man next to them is listening.

As we waited for H. to wake up, we drove down the dusty road to Pakistan
alongside pickups packed with migrants headed for the border, their faces
swaddled in scarves and goggles to protect from clouds of dust. Within an
hour, H. called and chastised us for driving there. Someone - A driver? The
kids playing by the stream? The old man collecting kindling? - must have
informed him we were there.

Twenty minutes later, he met us on the road and told us to follow him to his
home on the outskirts of town. We arrived at an opulent three-story house
and were led down a winding stairwell to the basement: a spacious room
adorned with red carpets, gold trimmed pillars and a large television tuned
to an Iranian news channel.

"Four of my relatives who were kidnapped around the area where you were
today," he warned us as we sat down to eat. Then he lowered his voice: "When
we found their bodies, we could only recognize them by their rings."

H. felt safest in the stretch of desert where we drove the night before,
land his father owned. He had spent much of his childhood there, taking
small boats out along the Helmand River. At 14, he started smuggling small
goods - petrol, cash, cigarettes - and accompanying Afghans across the
border into Iran.

Back then, it was easy, H. explained. Smugglers could pay a small bribe at a
border checkpoint and take vans of migrants to Tehran. But around a decade
ago, Iran erected a 15-foot-high wall and then, fearing an influx of Afghans
after the Taliban seized power, bolstered its security forces at the border.

The Taliban too have tried to shut down this route, raiding safe houses and
patrolling the desert. Still, smugglers are undeterred.

"The Taliban cannot shut down our business. If they tighten security, we
will just charge more and get more money," H. said over lunch. "We're always
one step ahead."

Still, H. admitted, more of his migrants than usual have been deported back
to Afghanistan from Iran. Even the two boys he tried to send the night
before were ambushed by Iranian soldiers just minutes after they climbed
over the border wall.

By 3 p.m., the boys had arrived back in Zaranj and H.'s cousin drove them to
the house to eat. On the way, he bought them new winter gloves - an apology
of sorts for dashing back onto Afghan soil without them the previous night.

Sitting among the smugglers, the older brother, Mohsin, recounted the
crossing, how he was afraid when he heard gunfire and watched an Iranian
soldier beat a migrant. The boys had spent the night in a detention facility
on the cold, concrete floor. Without a blanket, Mustafa slept curled up in
Mohsin's arms.

"I thought it would be easy to cross the border, but it was too difficult,"
Mohsin said matter-of-factly. The smugglers erupted in laughter.

H. said he planned to send the boys across the border again that night and
told them to rest. Then as dusk settled over the desert, H. began his usual
rounds: He drove through the borderlands scoping out Taliban checkpoints. He
stopped by one of his safe houses where 135 men sat hugging their knees on a
dirt floor. Torn plastic from medicine tablets lay strewn around them and
the smell of urine hung in the air.

Stepping outside, he nodded at an old man smoking a cigarette who kept
guard. Then H. turned to us. "This is enough, I think," he said, suggesting
it was time for us to go.

Four days later, H. sent a photo of the boys, standing in front of a
dust-covered orange tractor. They had made it into Iran that day.