they have a higher chance of being beheaded by the taliban than getting droned. especially if they aren't riding with terrorists
That clearly brings great comfort to them. You can see all the comfort when you read the articles about the day-to-day feelings of the actual people involved.
"They are always apprehensive about the drones, about their lives," said Pehshawar psychiatrist
www.salon.com
Living Under Drones: Death, Injury and Trauma to Civilians from US Drone Practices in Pakistan Related Organizations International Human Rights and Co
law.stanford.edu
That full PDF report in the 3rd link in particular is very even-handed, academic, and extremely well-cited in an attempt to get at the various processes that led to the situation at the time of the report's writing, as opposed to posts here (including my own) which are largely partisan. Chapter 3 is the portion that looks at the actual impacts of the attacks on civilians.
Here is the verbatim quote from that report that Conor quoted pieces of in the earlier Atlantic piece:
MENTAL HEALTH IMPACTS OF DRONE STRIKES AND THE PRESENCE OF DRONES
One of the few accounts of living under drones ever published in the US came from a former New York Times journalist who was kidnapped by the Taliban for months in FATA. In his account, David Rohde described both the fear the drones inspired among his captors, as well as among ordinary civilians: “The drones were terrifying. From the ground, it is impossible to determine who or what they are tracking as they circle overhead. The buzz of a distant propeller is a constant reminder of imminent death.” Describing the experience of living under drones as ‘hell on earth’, Rohde explained that even in the areas where strikes were less frequent, the people living there still feared for their lives.
Community members, mental health professionals, and journalists interviewed for this report described how the constant presence of US drones overhead leads to substantial levels of fear and stress in the civilian communities below. One man described the reaction to the sound of the drones as “a wave of terror” coming over the community. “Children, grown-up people, women, they are terrified. . . . They scream in terror.” Interviewees described the experience of living under constant surveillance as harrowing. In the words of one interviewee: “God knows whether they’ll strike us again or not. But they’re always surveying us, they’re always over us, and you never know when they’re going to strike and attack.” Another interviewee who lost both his legs in a drone attack said that “[e]veryone is scared all the time. When we’re sitting together to have a meeting, we’re scared there might be a strike. When you can hear the drone circling in the sky, you think it might strike you. We’re always scared. We always have this fear in our head.”
A Pakistani psychiatrist, who has treated patients presenting symptoms he attributed to experience with or fear of drones, explained that pervasive worry about future trauma is emblematic of “anticipatory anxiety,” common in conflict zones. He explained that the Waziris he has treated who suffer from anticipatory anxiety are constantly worrying, “‘when is the next drone attack going to happen? When they hear drone sounds, they run around looking for shelter.” Another mental health professional who works with drone victims concluded that his patients’ stress symptoms are largely attributable to their belief that “[t]hey could be attacked at any time.”
Uncontrollability—a core element of anticipatory anxiety—emerged as one of the most common themes raised by interviewees. Haroon Quddoos, a taxi driver who survived a first strike on his car, only to be injured moments later by a second missile that hit him while he was running from the burning car, explained:
"We are always thinking that it is either going to attack our homes or whatever we do. It’s going to strike us; it’s going to attack us . . . . No matter what we are doing, that fear is always inculcated in us. Because whether we are driving a car, or we are working on a farm, or we are sitting home playing . . . cards–no matter what we are doing, we are always thinking the drone will strike us. So we are scared to do anything, no matter what."
Interviewees indicated that their own powerlessness to minimize their exposure to strikes compounded their emotional and psychological stress. “We are scared. We are worried. The worst thing is that we cannot find a way to do anything about it. We feel helpless.” Ahmed Jan summarized the impact: “Before the drone attacks, it was as if everyone was young. After the drone attacks, it is as if everyone is ill. Every person is afraid of the drones.” One mother who spoke with us stated that, although she had herself never seen a strike, when she heard a drone fly overhead, she became terrified. “Because of the terror, we shut our eyes, hide under our scarves, put our hands over our ears.”487 When asked why, she said, “Why would we not be scared?"
A humanitarian worker who had worked in areas affected by drones stated that although far safer than others in Waziristan, even he felt constant fear:
"Do you remember 9/11? Do you remember what it felt like right after? I was in New York on 9/11. I remember people crying in the streets. People were afraid about what might happen next. People didn’t know if there would be another attack. There was tension in the air. This is what it is like. It is a continuous tension, a feeling of continuous uneasiness. We are scared. You wake up with a start to every noise."
In addition to feeling fear, those who live under drones–and particularly interviewees who survived or witnessed strikes–described common symptoms of anticipatory anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder. Interviewees described emotional breakdowns, running indoors or hiding when drones appear above, fainting, nightmares and other intrusive thoughts, hyper startled reactions to loud noises, outbursts of anger or irritability, and loss of appetite and other physical symptoms. Interviewees also reported suffering from insomnia and other sleep disturbances, which medical health professionals in Pakistan stated were prevalent. A father of three said, “drones are always on my mind. It makes it difficult to sleep. They are like a mosquito. Even when you don’t see them, you can hear them, you know they are there.” According to a strike survivor, “When the drone is moving, people cannot sleep properly or can’t rest properly. They are always scared of the drones.” Saeed Yayha, a day laborer who was injured from flying shrapnel in the March 17, 2011 jirga attack and must now rely on charity to survive, said:
I can’t sleep at night because when the drones are there . . . I hear them making that sound, that noise. The drones are all over my brain, I can’t sleep. When I hear the drones making that drone sound, I just turn on the light and sit there looking at the light. Whenever the drones are hovering over us, it just makes me so scared.
Akhunzada Chitan, a parliamentarian who occasionally travels to his family home in Waziristan reported that people there “often complain that they wake up in the middle of the night screaming because they are hallucinating about drones.”
Interviewees also reported a loss of appetite as a result of the anxiety they feel when drones are overhead. Ajmal Bashir, an elderly man who has lost both relatives and friends to strikes, said that “every person—women, children, elders—they are all frightened and afraid of the drones . . . [W]hen [drones] are flying, they don’t like to eat anything . . . because they are too afraid of the drones.” Another man explained that “We don’t eat properly on those days [when strikes occur] because we know an innocent Muslim was killed. We are all unhappy and afraid.”
Several Pakistani medical and mental health professionals told us that they have seen a number of physical manifestations of stress in their Waziri patients. Ateeq Razzaq and Sulayman Afraz, both psychiatrists, attributed the phenomenon in part to Pashtun cultural norms that discourage the expression of emotional or psychological distress. “People are proud,” Razzaq explained to us, “and it is difficult for them to express their emotions. They have to show that they are strong people.” Reluctant to admit that they are mentally or emotionally distressed, the patients instead “express their emotional ill health through their body symptoms,” resulting in what Afraz called “hysterical reactions,” or “physical symptoms without a real [organic] basis, such as aches, and pains, vomiting, etcetera.” The mental health professionals with whom we spoke told us that when they treat a Waziri patient complaining of generic physical symptoms, such as body pain or “headaches, backaches, respiratory distress, and indigestion,” they attempt to determine whether the patient has been through a traumatic experience. It is through this questioning that they have uncovered that some of their patients had experienced drones, or lost a relative in a drone strike.
Mental health professionals we spoke with in Pakistan also said that they had seen numerous cases of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)510 among their patients from Waziristan related to exposure to drone strikes and the constant presence of drones. For example, one psychiatrist described a female patient of his who:
was having shaking fits, she was screaming and crying . . . . I was guessing there might be some stress . . . then I [discovered] there was a drone attack and she had observed it. It happened just near her home. She had witnessed a home being destroyed–it was just a nearby home, [her] neighbor’s.
Interviewees also described the impacts on children. One man said of his young niece and nephew that “[t]hey really hate the drones when they are flying. It makes the children very angry.” Aftab Gul Ali, who looks after his grandson and three granddaughters, stated that children, even when far away from strikes, are “badly affected.” Hisham Abrar, who had to collect his cousin’s body after he was killed in a drone strike, stated:
When [children] hear the drones, they get really scared, and they can hear them all the time so they’re always fearful that the drone is going to attack them. . . Because of the noise, we’re psychologically disturbed—women, men, and children. . . Twenty-four hours, [a] person is in stress and there is pain in his head.
Noor Behram, a Waziri journalist who investigates and photographs drone strike sites, noted the fear in children: “if you bang a door, they’ll scream and drop like something bad is going to happen.” A Pakistani mental health professional shared his worries about the long-term ramifications of such psychological trauma on children:
The biggest concern I have as a [mental health professional] is that when the children grow up, the kinds of images they will have with them, it is going to have a lot of consequences. You can imagine the impact it has on personality development. People who have experienced such things, they don’t trust people; they have anger, desire for revenge . . . So when you have these young boys and girls growing up with these impressions, it causes permanent scarring and damage.
The small number of trained mental health professionals and lack of health infrastructure in North Waziristan exacerbates the symptoms and illnesses described here. Several interviewees provided a troubling glimpse of the methods some communities turn to in order to deal with mental illness in the absence of adequate alternatives. One man said that “some people have been tied in their houses because of their mental state.” A Waziri from Datta Khel—which has been hit by drone strikes over three dozen times in the last three years alone—said that a number of individuals “have lost their mental balance . . . are just locked in a room. Just like you lock people in prison, they are locked in a room.” Some of those interviewed reported that, to deal with their symptoms, they were able to obtain anti-anxiety medications and antidepressants. One Waziri man who lost his son in a drone strike explained that people take tranquilizers to “save them from the terror of the drones.” Umar Ashraf obtained a prescription for Lexotanil to treat “the mental issues I was facing,” and said that taking the medicine makes him feel better. Saeed Yayha, however, said that the prescription the doctors gave him to deal with “the pressure in his head” does not work for him; “
t just soothes me for half an hour but it does not last very long.”