Interview with Refsdal: http://www.viceland.com/blogs/en/2011/01/24/paul-refsdal/
This two part documentary, Taliban: Behind the Masks, that I found on youtube was shot by a Norwegian journalist named Paul Refsdal. He planned to embed with the Taliban for a month, but his trip was cut short to nine days due to a US coalition attack. A few weeks later, Refsdal was kidnapped by one of the Taliban commanders with whom he had embedded, but was released due to pressure from another Taliban commander and from Pakistani forces.
The second half of this documentary is especially interesting, as it shows many aspects of Taliban lifestyle: praying, playing, family(children), fighting/shooting, etc.
The video also juxtaposes images to blur the "good guy-bad guy" lines of the War. For example, the end of the first video shows Taliban commander Dawran with his two children (very cute), but the documentary ends with a US coalition attack on Dawran's home that leaves him alive but his two children dead.
If you think the video is super interesting (as I did), I would suggest to also read the interview with Refsdal that I posted above.
I watched the first part of this documentary, and like Hannah expressed in class, I am also very confused of what to think. At the beginning of the video the Western man making the documentary is worried that the Taliban men may be completely insane and may shoot him as soon as they meet, thinking he’s a spy. However, as time goes on I saw the Taliban just as men with families. However, when they began to blow up the American convoys travelling down below with jubilance and no remorse I began to rethink their earlier humanization. It frightens me that killing Americans doesn't make them think about their families at home and the loss their family would experience should they be killed. After attacking the convoys, the Taliban men praise God that these "infidels" are being sent to Hell. It is bizzare to me that their hate for Americans and extremist beliefs overshadow any human emotion towards killing.
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