http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=50305

Al-Qaida group funded by Christian-slave trade - WorldNetDaily.com

Pakistani, American missionaries film purchase of 20 boys in sting

Two Christian men – one an American evangelist and the other a Pakistani
missionary – have exposed a senior member of an al-Qaida-linked group
behind a trade in Christian children by going undercover and secretly
filming their purchase of 20 boys, age six to 12.

Gul Khan, a wealthy militant and senior member of Jamaat-ud Daawa, an
Islamic organization declared by the U.S. State Department to be a front
for another banned terrorist group banned in Pakistan for joining with
al-Qaida in 2003 in an attempted assassination of President Pervez
Musharraf, was filmed by a hidden camera accepting $28,500 from a
Pakistani missionary posing as a businessman wanting to purchase boys to
work for him as street beggars.

The two Christian men hatched their elaborate sting after seeing
pictures of the abducted boys, taken from Christian villages in the
Punjab, the London Times reported. During the months the two developed
their plan, the American evangelist, who runs a small charity called
Help Pakistani Children returned to the U.S. to raise funds. He asked to
be identified only as "Brother Dave," His Pakistani counterpart took on
the identity of a businessman named "Amir."

"We knew if we just purchased the boys, the slavers would just restock.
We would be fuelling the slave trade," said Brother David.

Neither man knew when Amir made contacts in the black market to set up a
meeting with the boys' abductors, the trail would lead to Khan or the
JUD.

"We realized we were out of our depth," Brother David said. But they
didn't give up – and they prayed.

Within a week, Amir had purchased three of the boys for $5,000 and paid
a $2,500 deposit for the remaining 17. Amir was given two months to
raise $28,500 to complete the purchase. Khan, he said, told him it would
not be a problem if the deadline was missed – he could make more money
by selling them for their organs.

While Brother David was in the U.S. raising the needed funds, Amir
continued to socialize with Khan who always had a retinue of Kalashnikov
- toting bodyguards. He also began to work with the police in hopes they
would arrest Khan, but the authorities insisted that any transaction be
secretly recorded for evidence.

Almost two weeks ago, Amir was summoned to meet Khan to complete the
deal. Although police, disguised as laborers, were stationed close to
the outdoor meeting site, Khan's agents took Amir and his assistant to a
second location for the exchange.

To Amir's dismay, Khan took the bag of cash – and the assistant as a
hostage – saying he would release the children and the assistant once he
determined the currency was real. Khan was filmed driving from the
meeting with a bag full of money to the JUD headquarters at Muridke,
near Lahore.

In the late '90s, Osama bin Laden funded the building of JUD's
headquarters. The group's assets were frozen last month after the U.S.
Treasury Department declared the group a terrorist organization.

"I was so praying that your money was good," Amir's assistant told him
later.

After several hours, the hostage and 17 boys were freed. They have been
returned to their parents, many of whom had given up hope of ever seeing
their sons.

The two Christian men are prepared to present their evidence and have
demanded the prosecution of Khan and an investigation of JUD, but the
police told them the reach of Pakistan's Islamic groups is too long for
them to be dealt with directly. They continue to flourish, despite
repeated "crackdowns" on extremists by the Pakistan government.

JUD's leader, Hafez Muhamed Sayeed, was accused of inciting riots
earlier this year in connection with the cartoons of the prophet
Muhammed published by a Danish newspaper.

"The slavers must be stopped and brought to justice," Brother David
said. "I pray that a public outcry will arise in Pakistan and around the
world that will put an end to their vile business."


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http://www.timesonline.co.uk/printFriendly/0%2C%2C1-524-2189789-524%2C00.htm
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The Sunday Times May 21, 2006 


Rescued – the Pakistan children seized by Islamist slave traders
Marie Colvin, Muridke

Hoax saves boys held for months 




THE slave traders came for 10-year-old Akash Aziz as he played cops and
robbers in his dusty village in eastern Punjab. 

Akash, still in the maroon V-neck sweater and tie that he had worn to
school that day, was a “robber”. But as he crouched behind a wall,
waiting for the schoolfriend designated as the “cop” to find him, a
large man with a turban and a beard grabbed him from behind and clamped
a cloth over his nose and mouth before he could cry for help. 

He recalls a strange smell and a choking sensation. “Then I fainted,”
said Akash, a delicate little child from a loving family that takes
pride in his enthusiasm for English lessons at school. 

Akash woke up in a dark room with a bare brick floor and no windows. The
heat was suffocating. As he languished there over the next month, 19
other panic-stricken boys were thrown into the room with him. 

The children, all Christians, had fallen into the hands of Gul Khan, a
wealthy Islamic militant and leading member of Jamaat-ud Daawa (JUD), a
group linked to the Al-Qaeda terrorist network. 

Khan lives near Pakistan’s border with Afghanistan, but when in the
Punjab he stays at the JUD’s headquarters in Muridke, near Lahore, where
young men can be seen practising martial arts with batons on rolling
green lawns patrolled by guards with Kalashnikovs. Osama Bin Laden
funded the centre in the late 1990s. 

The JUD, which claims to help the poor, says that it has created a “pure
Islamic environment” at Muridke that is superior to western “depravity”.
Khan’s activities explode that myth. He planned to sell his young
captives to the highest bidder, whether into domestic servitude or the
sex trade. The boys knew only that they were for sale. 

This is the story of the misery that Akash and his friends, aged six to
12, endured in captivity; of their rescue by Christian missionaries who
bought their freedom and tried to expose the kidnappers; and of the
children’s moving reunions with their loved ones who had believed they
were dead. 

Last week I had the privilege of taking six of the boys home to their
families, including Akash. The astonishment of mothers and fathers who
had given up hope and the fervent, tearful embraces made these some of
the most intensely emotional scenes I have witnessed. 

That joy was a long time coming. On the first day after his abduction,
Akash was left in no doubt about the brutality of the regime he would
endure. 

“I drank from a glass of water and one of the kidnappers pushed me so
hard I fell on the glass and it broke in my hands,” he said. His slender
fingers still bear the scars. No more glass for him, he was told: he was
fit to drink only from a tin cup. 

The boys were ordered not to talk, pray or play. Five of them were
playing a Pakistani equivalent of scissors, paper, stone one day when
the guards burst in and beat them savagely on their backs and heads. On
another occasion Akash was repeatedly struck by guards yelling “What is
in your house?” “I kept telling them, ‘We have nothing’,” he said
anxiously. “I was so afraid they would go back and rob my father and
mother.” It is painful to imagine blows raining down on the ribs of so
slight a figure. 

The guards mostly sat outside playing cards, shaded from the 116F heat
by a tree. But the boys were allowed out of their room only to use a
filthy hole-in-the-ground lavatory. All they could see were high walls
around the two-room building that was their prison. The other room was
always locked. 

The children were fed once a day on chapatis and dhal, but never enough.
Akash slept huddled against the others on the floor and woke each
morning a little more resigned to his fate. 

“We just sat around the walls thinking,” Akash said. “We were
remembering our homes and our mothers and fathers and hoping someone
would rescue us. But nobody came.” 

I first saw Akash in a photograph among those of 20 boys who were being
touted for sale in Quetta, the capital of Baluchistan on the Afghanistan
border renowned as a smugglers’ paradise and home to fugitives of the
Taliban and Al-Qaeda. He was just another black market commodity along
with guns, grenades and hashish. 

Unbeknown to Akash, a Pakistani Christian missionary and an American
evangelist who runs a tiny charity called Help Pakistani Children had
seen the boys’ photographs and taken up their cause. Neither man is
willing to be identified today for fear of the consequences. 

An elaborate sting was conceived. The Pakistani missionary would pose as
a Lahore businessman named Amir seeking boys to use as beggars who would
give their cash to him. 

The two men would also collect evidence that could be used in any police
action against the kidnappers. “We knew if we just purchased the boys,
the slavers would just restock. We would be fuelling the slave trade,”
said the American evangelist, who asked to be referred to as “Brother
David”. 

They had no idea how hazardous their enterprise was until Amir used some
black market contacts to engineer a meeting with Khan and discovered his
links to the JUD. “We realised we were out of our depth,” Brother David
said ruefully. But they persevered — and prayed a good deal. 

Amir played his part well. Within a week he had bought three of the boys
for $5,000 (£2,650) and put down a $2,500 deposit on the 17 others,
including Akash. 

The first three were handed over on a Quetta street in April and
returned to their families. But Khan wanted $28,500 for the lot. He gave
Amir two months to come up with the money, saying he did not mind if the
deadline was missed: he could earn more if he sold them for their
organs, he claimed. 

Brother David went home to America to raise funds. Amir travelled again
and again to Quetta, taking Khan to lunch as his bodyguards lounged
outside in pickup trucks, their Kalashnikovs at the ready. He enlisted
police officers who insisted that the eventual transaction be recorded
with a secret camera so that the evidence against Khan would be
irrefutable. 

Twelve days ago Amir received a call from Khan summoning him to a
meeting at a crossroads on a dirt road near the JUD’s Muridke camp. 

There was no cover here, just newly harvested wheatfields and water
buffalo wallowing in a pond. Six policemen dressed as labourers with the
intention of alerting colleagues in cars concealed a mile away to arrest
Khan once the cash had been exchanged for the children. 

Amir and a young assistant waited for an hour at the crossroads before
one of Khan’s men walked up and directed him to another location. The
police had been wrong-footed. 

Amir finally found his quarry under a large, shady tree where he was
sitting on a rope bed while an acolyte massaged his shoulders. “You have
the money?” Khan asked. 

When Amir handed him the $28,500 cash in a black knapsack, he examined
it briskly. Then, without explanation, he broke his promise to hand over
the boys there and then. 

“I will check the dollars are real first,” he said. “If your dollars are
good, you will get the children.” 

A second blow followed. Khan announced that he was going to take Amir’s
assistantas hostage. If the money was real, he said, the children would
be delivered in two hours. If it was counterfeit, the hostage would not
be seen again. 

It was a heart-stopping moment, not least because the young man posing
as Amir’s bag carrier had hidden the secret camera under his shirt. Amir
motioned him to the back of his car as if to retrieve something from the
boot, and ripped the camera from his body. 

The hostage was blindfolded and driven to a building where he was held
alone in a room. “I was so praying that your money was good,” he later
told Amir. 

Another anxious wait ensued. The police were off the scene and the two
hours passed with no word from the kidnappers. Nor was there any news
the next day. 

Finally, a call came through from Amir’s assistant in the dead of night.
He had just been dropped off by the side of a road 15 minutes’ drive
from JUD headquarters with the remaining 17 boys. They were afraid but
alive, he declared. They were being taken to a shack nearby. I drove
there immediately and found Akash asleep on a plastic mat surrounded by
his 16 friends. 

Their thin limbs were sprawled and their bodies curled against each
other for comfort. One boy gripped the sleeve of another as he slept.
They stank of urine. 

As the children awoke, the bewilderment showed in their eyes. The first
task of the missionaries was to reassure them but few seemed to believe
Brother David when he said: “We will protect you. We will take you home
to your mothers and fathers. The bad men who took you are gone.” Not one
boy smiled. It had been too long since they had dared to hope. 

Yet after a cold wash under an outdoor tap and a change into fresh
clothes, preparations began for the the first of the long car journeys
back to their homes in remote Punjab villages. As the boys gradually
warmed to their liberators, they talked a little about their ordeal. 

Asif Anjed, 8, one of the smallest, had the biggest personality. But his
concept of time was so childish that when I asked him how long it had
been since he had seen his parents, he thought hard for a moment and
said: “Six or seven years.” It had been five months. 

Asif had retained a sense of outrage from the moment of his abduction.
“They put me in a bag!” he kept saying indignantly. He picked out a
bright orange T-shirt because he liked its bear logo, the symbol of a
football team in Chicago. 

Like Akash, Asif said he had lost consciousness when a man with a beard
and turban put a rag over his mouth. He became indignant again when I
asked whether he had tried to escape. “The men told us if we ran out of
the door they would cut our throats,” he said. 

Asif seemed to have few memories of home. “My friend was Bilal,” he
said. He grew quiet when he realised he had forgotten what his mother
looked like. 

As if exhausted by the effort of trying to remember, he fell asleep
across my lap during the 15-hour drive to his home in the desert of
southern Punjab on the Indian border. As we drew near, the garrulous
Asif looked solemn, perhaps not knowing quite what to expect. At a place
where fertile green fields gave way to white desert sands, he pointed to
his house at the end of a path across a stretch of wasteland. 

His father, Amjed, must have seen him getting out of the car. He came
running out of the house, barely able to believe that the boy walking
hesitantly towards him in plastic sandals was his son. Then he flung out
his arms, scooped up Asif and squeezed him against his chest. 

Asif’s mother, Gazzala, came bustling down the path as fast as she could
in her flowered salwar kameez, dragging his younger sister, Neha, by the
hand. 

She collapsed on her knees in front of Asif, her only other child,
weeping and clutching him to her, the long months of anguish etched into
the lines on her face. 

Like any other boy of his age, Asif seemed embarrassed by these extreme
displays of emotion, glowering as his mother clung to him for longer
than he would have liked. 

Both parents remembered every detail of the day their boy had failed to
return home from school. Asif’s father manages a small chicken farm and
usually collects him on a bicycle for the 3km ride. He still cannot
forgive himself for staying home to work that day. 

When Asif did not appear his father started a frantic search, stopping
strangers on his bicycle to ask, “Have you seen my little boy?” In
common with other families, Asif’s did not go to the police. “The police
will only take interest if they are paid and we have nothing,” Amjed
said. 

“We thought someone had killed him,” his mother added, the tears
streaming down her cheeks. “I couldn’t stop imagining that maybe they
had broken his arms and legs.” 

As the reality sank in, both parents began to smile. They looked at Asif
in shock as he repeated his customary line — “they put me in a bag” —
but were soon planning a family feast to celebrate. “It’s a miracle!”
Amjed said. 

Khan would also be shocked if he knew that his captives had not been
sold into slavery. Their rescuers fear retribution and are also worried
because the exposure of Khan has implications for the way religious
extremist groups are treated in Pakistan. Even the police said the reach
of such groups was too long for them to be dealt with in a
straightforward way. 

Why should it be so difficult to prosecute slave traders who cloak
themselves in the garb of pious Muslims? For one thing, the JUD offers
free medical care and education and won hearts and minds by providing
blankets, tents and food after last year’s Kashmir earthquake. Few
Pakistanis care to know how closely it is associated with
Lashkar-i-Toiba, a group proscribed by Pakistan and Britain as a
terrorist organisation that participated in an Al-Qaeda attempt to
assassinate Pervez Musharraf, the Pakistani president, in 2003. 

There can be no denying Khan’s connections with the JUD. After he
collected his $28,500, he was seen driving directly into its
headquarters. 

Brother David and Amir are ready to present their dossier of evidence,
including the secret tape of Khan taking the money for the boys. 

In almost any other country, an investigation into Khan and his work for
the JUD would be automatic. It is not so simple in Pakistan. Musharraf
has announced numerous crackdowns on the extremist religious militants
but the extremists continue to gather strength. 

The stories of these boys cry out for action. “The slavers must be
stopped and brought to justice,” Brother David said. “I pray that a
public outcry will arise in Pakistan and around the world that will put
an end to their vile business.” 

Akash, the first boy to be returned to his family, constitutes the
strongest possible case for an end to child trafficking. 

For the first few hours of the journey to his village, Akash sat on the
edge of the back seat next to me. He rested his hands on the front
seats, gazing out through the windscreen, answering any question with a
monosyllable and flexing his fingers over and over again. 

He recalled that his best friend was called Rashed — they played cricket
together — but he could not remember the name of his school. 

He shook as we approached his village. I thought he would collapse. Then
came a quiet, uplifting moment that brought tears to my eyes. 

The driver stopped by a canal to ask directions. Taking the initiative
for the first time, Akash tentatively raised his arm, pointing down a
narrow dirt road running with sewage. 

He had not even reached the door of his house before his grandmother,
wrapped in a colourful shawl, engulfed him in an embrace in the dirt
alley outside, her face contorted with delight. 

Akash’s mother was so strangely impassive that it made me angry until I
realised she was too shocked to take in the fact that the son she had
thought was dead was snuggling up to her. Finally, she hugged him,
kissing him over and over again on the top of his head. “We were
hopeless,” she said. “His father searched and searched. We prayed. But
we thought he was gone.” 

Akash had another surprise waiting for him at home: a two-month-old
brother he had never seen. 

Home at last, resting against his mother, he smiled broadly for the
first time and, just a few hours after getting into a car for the first
time, declared his ambition to become a pilot.





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