Battered, Bruised, and Bleeding
A fury of riders atop agitated horses rampage across an open playing field, kicking up dust in their wake. The crowd looks on as players forcefully wrest for control of a headless, hoofless calf. The goal? Deliver the carcass to a chalk-defined circle at the end of the pitch. Simple enough if not for the sheer weight of the calf (up to 100 pounds) and the menace of players vying to do the same. This is buzkashi, Afghanistan’s national sport.
Think rugby mixed with polo, but instead of a multimillion-dollar stadium, this rough and tumble game plays out in the steppe of northern Afghanistan. To the uninformed eye, the game may seem nothing more than a violent scrum of cracking whips and gnashing teeth, but the stakes are high and there are complex power dynamics at play.
Elise Blanchard (AFP)
Buzkashi, or “goat grabbing” in Dari, is a game of disputed origins, but it is a decidedly Central Asian sport. One popular origin story depicts ancient buzkashi as a training exercise for Genghis Khan’s warriors, one that prepared them to steal war spoils while on the move. However, the relatively recent demarcation of borders makes it difficult to pinpoint where the game began. Many iterations of the sport exist across Central Asia but in Afghanistan, two formats have prevailed. The first sees every man for himself. In the second, players are divided into opposing teams, usually along provincial lines. Players battle for control of the buz, the disemboweled animal carcass, make a lap around a flag at the far end of the arena before dropping it into a circle. This maneuver ends a cycle, and the victor claims his cash prize as riders gear up for another run. In this fashion the game goes on, lasting roughly two hours, a grueling yet rewarding undertaking. Depending on the size of the competition, some players walk away from a buzkashi tournament with hundreds of dollars among other coveted prizes such as new cars and livestock.
Elise Blanchard (AFP)
In the 1970s, an effort was made by the national government to standardize the game, but no amount of regulation has quelled the brutality that pulses through every match. Riders, or chapandazan, often walk away battered, bruised, and sometimes bleeding. So fierce the battle and so forceful the crush of horses, players have taken to reinforcing their boots with wooden rods to keep their bones from breaking. Buzkashi uniforms are typically a disjointed assemblage of protective items. Judo-esque trousers and jackets are paired with purpose-built leather boots, whips, and fingerless gloves. Chapandazan may don a fur-trimmed telbek or Soviet tank helmet to complete the look.
I spoke with Jason Motlagh, journalist, filmmaker, and buzkashi aficionado familiar with the layers of power and prestige that have long been enmeshed in the fabric of the game. “The buzkashi pitch is a stage of larger political and social significance in which rival factions battle to project power,” he says. The collapse of the Taliban government in 2001 saw the rise of warlords, many of whom were mujahideen commanders during the Soviet-Afghan war. With the Taliban in retreat, they quickly established control over large swaths of territory and integrated themselves into the new and tenuous political order. Many prominent warlords also happen to be die-hard buzkashi fans. By financing players, they signal their influence and wealth to the community. In this way, an inextricable link is formed between player and patron, the chapandaz an extension of his sponsor’s status. Longstanding rivalries contribute to the undercurrent of animosity that pervades the game. With reputations at stake, proxy conflicts between competing factions play out within the confines of the arena. Spectators and players alike typically disapprove of foul play, but when egos are wrapped up in a game’s outcome, anything goes.
Elise Blanchard (AFP)
In recent years, buzkashi, although still popular, has lost some of its prestige. “The game is a shell of what it once was,” Jason tells me. The success of a chapandaz is largely dependent on the horse he rides. Without a strong horse, a player is rendered ineffective, lacking the speed and raw power needed to nimbly navigate the chaos of thrashing limbs. Jason describes how decades of conflict have decimated Afghanistan’s supply of horses. Imported stock from Kyrgyzstan can run upwards of $50,000, a steep and out-of-reach price tag for many players who lack the backing of wealthy sponsors. Prominent patrons once sourced these pedigreed horses, but diminished investment due to disruptive conflict has resulted in a decline in the overall continuity of the sport.
Jason Motlagh
With the Taliban’s return to power and their reputation for banning entertainment, I wondered if buzkashi is still played. Surprisingly, the Taliban have allowed matches to continue and are currently hosting a national tournament, a welcome diversion amid a failing economy and worsening humanitarian crisis. Jason just returned from filming a soon-to-be-released documentary about the sport and described an overall relaxed atmosphere with some key changes. Like their Kyrgyz neighbors, Afghan players now use a synthetic buz, an effort to placate the accusations of animal cruelty that have been leveled at the sport. Interestingly, though players from northern buzkashi strongholds of Balkh, Shiberghan, and Badakhshan have dominated the sport, a team representing the southern province of Kandahar has excelled at the national level. Even with these shifts, the essence of the game remains the same—— ferocity on the field and political posturing in the stands.
Buzkashi has endured regime changes, limited funding, inferior horses, and swells of conflict. Empires may rise and fall but this brutal and beloved pastime doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
For more reading:
https://apps.npr.org/buzkashi/
https://spectator.clingendael.org/en/publication/past-and-future-afghan-warlords
