„Es sind nur sieben“, sagte der Unions-Fraktionsvize. Später hieß es aus dem Verteidigungsministerium, es seien um diese Zeit nur wenige der auf den Evakuierungslisten Genannten am Flugplatz gewesen. Bei den Passagieren soll es sich um fünf Deutsche, einen Niederländer und einen Afghanen gehandelt haben.
The sudden end of America’s longest war was marked this weekend, and into Monday, by indelible footage of Afghans crowding the Kabul airport, clinging to the outside of a U.S. military aircraft in a frantic attempt to flee Taliban rule after the rapid collapse of their country’s government. Desperate men held the plane’s fuselage as it taxied down the runway, rolling off onto the pavement as it picked up speed. Moments after takeoff, two objects dropped through the sky, presumed to be bodies.
As I write this, the fall of Afghanistan, and the conclusion of a 20-year engagement in the region that began shortly after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, is being captured in dramatic detail across numerous platforms by multiple news organizations, many of which have appeared stunned by the turn of events. Who could have predicted this, they’re asking?
War correspondents, foreign bureaus and Afghan stringers, for starters. You know: actual journalists.
The shrinking of American newsrooms since their heyday in the 20th century and the country’s fatigue after two decades of war have created a media ecosystem whose bread and butter is domestic crisis and political rancor, presented by opinionated anchors and argued by divisive personalities.