Afghanistan as explained by Yeats’s poetry

A certain national narrative has taken shape around the events of the last decade in Afghanistan. The sentiments surrounding this narrative are expressed in familiar phrases in conversations by taxi drivers, day laborers, civil servants and civil society activists. These sentiments are about the Afghan sense of self and the delights and disappointments that Afghans have experienced over the last decade of statehood.

Living a full century in the past and half a world away, Yeats was surrounded by similar sentiments. He was an Irish nationalist and served two terms as an Irish senator. Among his poems – both political and non-political – one can find snippets that are apt commentary on Afghanistan today.

This is not least because, much like Afghanistan, his country, Ireland, also plunged into civil war right after gaining independence from British rule – and his people, the Irish, have a tough, warlike reputation, much like Afghans. This, and the two nations’ long and shared experience of violence, makes his poetry strikingly relevant to contemporary Afghanistan…and the seemingly timeless nature of his writings is a reminder that the literature of hope and despair and violence and war are more or less universal and timeless.

I am not a scholar of literature, but in this admittedly crude study, I list an expression of Afghan sentiment and then post an excerpt from Yeats’s poetry or prose that seems to address that sentiment.

Enjoy (and feel free to make your own contributions or corrections in the comments).

2014: the worst-case scenario

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

-’The Second Coming’ was written right after World War I but still describes the sense of impending doom in Afghanistan.

And this:

…many that have been free to walk the hills and the bogs and the rushes will be sent to walk hard streets in far countries; many a good plan will be broken; many that have gathered money will not stay to spend it…

-’Cathleen Ni Houlihan,’ the play from 1922 about the bloody Irish rebellion of 1798 against British rule. This passage could describe the displacement (internal and external) of Afghans due to violence, capital flight before 2014, and the government’s seemingly ill-fated plans to fix things.

The educated but indifferent younger generation crowded out by the older set of leaders who have questionable pasts

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

-The Second Coming

On the essence of the Afghan sense of self

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

-Quote frequently attributed to Yeats, but I couldn’t find the parent work that it is part of.

And:

Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother’s womb
A fanatic heart.

-’Remorse for Intemperate Speech,’ a poem which, according to this book on Yeats’s poetry, “ascribes the ‘fanatic heart’ to the peculiarities of Ireland…[taking] account of Ireland’s furious politics and perennial land agitation” – two phenomenon not unknown in Afghanistan.

And:

There was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend…

-’The Sad Shepherd,’ describing the essential sadness of the Afghan heart, beset by tragedies and sorrows of generational violence.

And:

Having inherited a vigorous mind
From my old fathers, I must nourish dreams
And leave a woman and a man behind
As vigorous of mind, and yet it seems
Life scarce can cast a fragrance on the wind,

-’My Descendants,’ the fourth meditation in ‘Meditations in Times of Civil War,’ speaks to the Afghan sense of inherited vigor and martial prowess…which can sometimes get lost between generations, effecting a generation of loose conviction and weak attachment to country and honor.

On the security industry: the policemen, soldiers, private guards and other gunmen that proliferate a poor nation at war:

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds

-’An Irish Airman Foresees His Death,’ written in 1919 about his friend who was an aviator fighting on the side of the British even as the Irish were fighting a war of independence against them. Kiltartan Cross may well be Kabul City, and his friend may well be an Afghan policeman who joined the force not out of conviction to protect or avenge but of the obligation to put food on the table for his family.

On Afghans being fed up with war and violence, and longing for peace and normalcy

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?

-’Easter, 1916′ is a poem describing Yeats’s sentiments about the failed Irish uprising that took place that day against British rule. It speaks to the common Afghan sentiment about the toll and futility of continued violence.

On the human toll of Afghanistan being the ‘graveyard of empires’

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart’s grown brutal from the fare;
More Substance in our enmities
Than in our love; …

-’The Stare’s Nest by My Window’ is the sixth meditation in ‘Meditations in Time of Civil War’ and describes the Irish civil war that broke out right after Ireland became independent from British rule. This poem speaks to the Afghan sentiment that the narrative of Afghans being a martial and fiercely independent race has been too costly to them.

The electorate is confused and the field is wide open

Image

The election season’s first public opinion poll results were released yesterday by TOLO News/ATR, with the headline that ‘initial election polling reveals three favorites.’ Those favorites are Dr. Abdullah, Ashraf Ghani and Qayum Karzai, respectively.  This is fascinating insight for Afghanistan, because popular punditry also had Zalmai Rasoul, Sayyaf, Gen. Wardak and Gul Agha Sherzai as among the top favorites, but they barely even registered (Sayyaf, for example, was the highest at 3.4%).

But the headline buried the lead, because 50% of the respondents to the survey said they do not have any favorites or have not decided whom to vote for, suggesting that the field is wide open. This means that even Gen. Wardak’s 0.8% could theoretically go up to 50.8%, making him president.

There are many reasons to take these results with a pinch of salt,* but the poll results show that the electorate is open to being wooed, that ethnicity will matter less and platforms will matter more. Unlike previous elections when ethnic blocks were represented by one premier ticket, this time those ethnic blocks are fractured — the Tajiks, Hazaras and Pashtuns all have more than one prominent person running.

In the absence of an optimal ethnic ticket, the so-called vote banks cannot vote based on their habitual reflexes but have to choose between several tickets. If voters were shoppers, and their trusted brand of toothpaste is on longer available, they are now searching for a good new alternative. A significant portion of the electorate is open to being influenced, and the ticket that most appeals to the voters and reflects what they want has a greater chance of winning.

This does not mean that ethnicity does not matter anymore, but it does mean that it matters less than in previous elections. A shrewd ticket would capitalize on that and instead of focusing on getting the best combination of warlords on the ticket, it would work on developing a platform and an effective campaign message.

The question then becomes about what the voters want. We have a fairly good idea of what they want for the country, which is security, economic development, reduced corruption, electricity and education, justice, etc. But there is a dearth of hard data on what the electorate wants in a candidate. We know that Afghans have always wanted peace but they have reliably voted for warlords; they have always wanted economic development but they have been swayed by candidates with religious credentials; they have wanted education but they have voted for conservative mujahids.

But people with technocratic reputations – Ashraf Ghani, Rasoul, Qayum Karzai, Abdullah and Wardak – dominate this field, and ethnic tickets are multipolar. The voters have to develop new calculations about what they want in a vote-worthy ticket, what factors matter more than others, and what attributes could replace or proxy for traditional ones such as ethnicity, religious and jihadi credentials, etc.

That could perhaps be the subject of the next TOLO News/ATR poll.

—-

* Reasons to take the poll with a pinch of salt:

  • Opinion polls are untested in Afghanistan, so we don’t know how well polls reflect actual voting patterns
  • It is still too early: tickets will change, alliances will shift, people will get disqualified
  • Opinion polls may not reflect who will vote and who will get to vote -  the Ministry of Interior says more than half of the polling stations are in insecure areas, and the Taliban say they will target anyone who becomes a candidate or votes
  • Opinion polls cannot factor in the amount of fraud/irregularity that is likely to occur
  • Two-thirds of respondents are in urban areas, which does not reflect Afghanistan’s actual population spread
  • Et cetera.

Note: I have expressed a lot of views in this post. The views are all strictly personal and do not represent the views of my employers, current or former.

The apology is just the beginning

General Dostum

General Dostum ‘apologized’ on TV today for the ‘negative consequences’ of his ‘politics’ on the people of Afghanistan. He was referring to the tens of thousands of innocent civilians killed and injured during the civil war years in the early 1990s. Ask any victim – or their families if the victims didn’t survive – and they would tell you these were more than just ‘negative consequences’ of ‘politics.’ But this is the first time that a civil war actor has supposedly apologized to the victims, and the government must build upon the momentum this apology can create.

Dostum has been trying for a while to shed his image of a strongman who is often ruthless in his violence; he seems to have intensified those efforts now that he is officially in the race to become Afghanistan’s vice president. If we disregard his electoral motivations, his statement is a pioneering act of humility in a country where the perpetrators, emboldened by coddling from the government and the international community, passed a law in 2007 granting themselves legal immunity for past crimes.

But General Dostum’s call for such actors to also apologize to the people of Afghanistan is an opportunity to remind these actors that decades of atrocities cannot be wiped in  a single TV apology, that true justice necessitates including the victim’s point of view, that nobody can ‘pardon’ a perpetrator but the victims. General Dostum has also given the government a good reminder to restart the justice efforts that it abandoned due to political expediency promptly after adopting the transitional justice action plan in 2006.

The government has long argued that holding the bad guys accountable will cause too much instability, so its strategy has been to bring them to power rather than to justice. But this house-of-cards argument is collapsing because over the last five to eight years, the more the government has coddled the bad guys, the worse the violence has gotten. Some journalists and the Independent Human Rights Commission’s field staff refer to perpetrators of this violence as “irresponsible armed groups” to distinguish them from the Taliban and other anti-government fighters. In many cases these irresponsible armed groups are connected with someone in power in the government through a network of patronage politics that stretches to the corridors of government in Kabul. It’s a trickle-down effect: you ignore the big guy in the capital and he starts to feel untouchable, so his minions in the provinces – where the government’s writ is thin anyway – feel covered and therefore completely immune.

Part of the government’s reasoning for this approach is that if you bring these people to justice, the shockwaves will cause the government to collapse altogether. But this reasoning is wrong. It is based on a premise that justice must be punitive (it doesn’t have to), that justice and stability are mutually exclusive (they are not). Justice in societies like Afghanistan that are transitioning from one form of governance to another doesn’t have to — in fact, should not — be punitive. Restorative justice that emphasizes on including the victim’s voice and having the perpetrators accept their mistakes is more effective than punishing, excluding and banishing the perpetrators. For large-scale crimes involving multiple perpetrators and multiple thousands of victims, only a truly national and inclusive process can heal old wounds and prepare the ground for post-conflict nation- and state-building. Ignoring grievances is not a strategy but a tactic that always backfires in the long run, and we are already seeing the consequences of such neglect.

It is time for a democratic government to heed the aspirations of the people of Afghanistan to finally focus on justice rather than delaying, side-stepping and ignoring it. It is time for the government to finally prioritize justice as a strategy to promote long-term stability, cohesion and a sense of nationhood as opposed to treating justice as a threat to stability.

The crimes of the last three decades have been large-scale and deliberate; the efforts necessary to address them must also be truly national and seriously pursued. The general’s apology is a commendable act of humility and courage, but it should be only the beginning.

Note: I have expressed a lot of views in this post. The views are all strictly personal and do not represent the views of my employers, current or former.

A late-night rendezvous with Afghan police

Kabul residents know better than to frolic about the streets and cafes until late at night and then hop into a random cab to go home. It’s simply too dangerous for that. But the danger is not because of threats specific to the war, such as the Taliban, Al Qaeda or the warlords. The danger has nothing to do with that.

The caution stems from hazards specific to any unstable, post-conflict country that’s struggling with poverty and the rule of law. The popular fear is that taxi drivers might turn out to be kidnappers or criminals preying on unsuspecting passengers late at night. (As a parallel, taxis that run at night are also afraid of the random passenger who might have criminal intentions.)

But your humble blogger has been unwisely and habitually flouting the rules of caution: He’s been hopping on taxis at 9, 10, 11 p.m. or even later (No, he’s never drunk). Most taxi drivers have been incredibly nice people and good conversationalists. They’re out there to make a living, not kidnap people.

One recent night, I approached a taxi, haggled with the driver to settle the fare and hopped on. He turned up the car’s heater and we settled into a warm conversation. Along the way, we spotted a group of four young men standing on the street hailing our cab. The driver was slowing to pick them up when I sounded a note of alarm.

Me: Be careful, ustad, a group of young people like that can be trouble this late at night.

Him: No, don’t worry. I’m in the police and on patrol right now.

He might have spotted the incredulous look on my face despite the darkness. He tried to reassure me and proceeded to dig out his radio phone from his jacket pocket and placed it on the dashboard, next to his police hat, which I then noticed. I also noticed his uniform under his thick jacket. He produced his police ID for my inspection. His name on the card was, simply, Aimal.

Sergeant Aimal said he had spent four years in the police academy and boasted that he was one of the most qualified cops in town. He repeated that he’s on patrol as we speak, this time adding somewhat apologetically that it is hard even for qualified cops to make ends meet because of the low salaries.

Sergeant Aimal was working as a taxi driver while on duty as a policeman. He wasn’t patrolling in the police truck but in a cab, not chasing a particular route but going where the passenger was headed.

I asked if he owned the car (plenty of taxi drivers who don’t have their own vehicles pay a portion of their daily earnings as “rent” to vehicle owners). Sergeant Aimal tried to dodge the question by saying something about his brother’s Corolla.

The car clearly wasn’t his. But could it be some poor taxi driver’s car held at the police station for an investigation? Was Sergeant Aimal trying to earn extra money while on duty by spiriting away a car confiscated for criminal investigation?

I didn’t press him on these questions, of course, but I knew the common complaint about low wages for most government employees.

President Karzai has said several times that foreigners are to blame for corruption in Afghanistan. But could it be that his government is incentivizing widespread corruption by offering pitifully low wages to its employees? Some foreign observers point out that corruption is endemic in Afghanistan because the country is awash in foreign aid. But would Sergeant Aimal skip patrol, steal a car and drive people around town at midnight if he were paid adequately? The international community pledged tens of billions of dollars in continued aid for the decade after 2014, with particular emphasis on the security forces. Is that an effective strategy when the ministries of defense and interior (which oversees the police) fail to implement most of their budgets while their soldiers are forced to get into bizarre financial arrangements to make ends meet?

There are other ministries that regularly fail to execute enormous chunks of their annual budgets because of a lack of capacity, inferior management, security concerns, bad planning and other systemic inefficiencies.

A recent visit to the ministry of education, which regularly fails to execute its budget, illustrated the problems perfectly. The deputy minister said they had recently implemented pay reforms that resulted in a raise for everyone. But the deputy minister’s assistant later told me that some of the clerks receive as low as AFN6,000 ($120) a month. That’s an impossible wage to live on, especially if it has to feed an average Afghan family with five kids. Clerks have the option to work over-time to boost their income to AFN8,000, but most clerks supposedly working overtime are not even at work. They arrange for someone else to clock them in, a favor for which the accomplice might sometimes get a little something.

Hundreds of millions of dollars go unspent each year, yet hundreds of millions of dollars keep flowing into the government coffers as aid, while tens of thousands of government employees are forced to become corrupt.

But whereas some of the corruption by foreigners and domestic fat cats is for greed, the corruption pervading the government ranks is often for survival. This corruption is systemic and therefore largely avoidable. But as long as we keep pointing fingers at foreigners or attribute corruption to too much aid, we’ll either evade making real policy changes, or we’ll make the wrong ones.

In either case things won’t change for the likes of Sergeant Aimal.

Watching ‘The Patience Stone’ in Kabul

The cold Friday night was well suited for landi – the dried, preserved meat dish – most commonly served in the winter. Someone from my extended network of cousins had somehow procured an illegal copy of the movie on his thumb drive. So there was the landi delicacy, the movie, cards to play and an unceasing flow of green and black tea. The night was set.

The French-made film started with a deceptive simplicity, a calm that is so at odds with the typical Hollywood movie that aims to dazzle with action, graphics, sound, movement or a combination thereof. As the film went on, it was interspersed with scenes of war and destruction, but the screen adaptation of the book fell somewhere short of being impressive.

The principal actors, mostly Iranians, failed despite their best efforts to mimic the Dari accent. The screenwriters – I don’t know who they are – failed despite their best efforts to produce a genuine Dari screenplay. The use of Karzai-era Afghani in a scene supposedly depicting Jihad-era Afghanistan was a subtle but obvious indicator of how disconnected the filmmakers are from Afghanistan. The random kid with the kite – obligatory in most Afghan-themed films after The Kite Runner – was cliché and unconvincing.

I was focused on these details, but my cousins had other things to focus about the movie. It was raunchy, but everyone kind of knew to expect (and enjoy) that.

In one scene, the female lead’s soliloquy discusses Prophet Muhammad and his relationship with his beloved wife, Ayesha. This is where the first critical note came from the group. Someone said the filmmaker shouldn’t have gone there; it’s sacred space after all. Someone else retorted that the story wouldn’t have won any wards had it not been deliberately provocative.

In that way, the film had the typical European artistic irreverence to it. This “irreverent” attitude could not only offend Muslim sensibilities but also thoroughly anger Afghans because it appears to them as though the artist deliberately sets out to offend an entire people.

The female lead seems connected with her sexuality and is vocal about it in a way that’s taboo for Afghans to imagine – much less talk about or depict on screen. At one point, she reveals that her brother- and father-in-law forced themselves on her regularly when her husband was away on jihad; she also engages in sex for money with a young jihadi fighter and initiates him in the ways of love. She connects with her aunt, a prostitute, and reveals how she, an “infertile” woman, supposedly conceived her two daughters through sex with a “healer” in a dark room. At one point she asks her husband, who is in a vegetative state, what God has done for him after all the years of fighting for His sake?

Afghan familial relations are governed by a sense of pious honor. It should come as no surprise, then, that the movie’s rancid depiction of the family could elicit indignation and vehement protest once it premiers in Afghanistan (if it ever does). There’s no lack of constituency that the movie could offend: the mujahideen, the mullahs, the religious Afghans or, at the very least, the manly Afghan man who prides himself on the sacredness of the Afghan family and the superior purity of the Afghan society.

Protests against films and subsequent bans on those films are not new in post-Taliban Afghanistan. The precedent began with the Bollywood production, Kabul Express, which was banned after protests from Hazaras who felt offended by its portrayal of the ethnic group.

But perhaps because The Patience Stone does not have a cohesive ethnic or linguistic constituency, it will be met only with scoffs and righteous indignation. (The book is set “somewhere in Afghanistan or elsewhere,” but the movie doesn’t make that clear.)

None of the people in the audience with me seemed much troubled by the provocative aspect of the movie.

An interesting comment came from a wholly unexpected quarter. One of my cousins, in his 40s, had been a village mullah in the late 90s and early 2000s. Mullahs are expected to lead their congregations toward goodness and away from sin. This cousin launched into a think-out-loud session that yielded some interesting remarks.

“When I was a mullah, I condemned – or if within my powers, prohibited – people from watching things that even portrayed women without a headscarf. But now it has all become so common that any such objection from me will make very little sense,” he said.

“Maybe because uncovered female hair and other things are so common now, people don’t feel carnal pleasure seeing them on TV,” he continued.

“And maybe because people don’t derive pleasure, it’s not a sin to watch these things.”

He was a mullah when the Taliban were in power (he didn’t have any connections with them). With these comments, he was stepping well beyond the limits of what is proper for mullahs and adopts views that are openly contrarian and blasphemous by the standards of the conservative religious orthodoxy.

Afghans and some foreign observers claim that Afghanistan is a vastly different country now than it was under the Taliban. Few of these observers can tangibly explain exactly what they mean by this change apart from pointing to the number of students in school, the proliferation of TV channels and the improved road networks.

But, as this mullah’s comments indicate, it’s the evolution in thinking and expectations that has made Afghanistan such a different place now than it was a mere 10 years ago.

And that is a truly sustainable development that will outlast the international community.

In memoriam Khudi Ali, friend and human rights activist

Two bombs went off in a Quetta billiards hall yesterday. The first targeted those present in the hall, the second targeted the crowd that came to the rescue. My friend Irfan Ali Khudi, a human rights defender, interfaith activist and prolific tweeter, was among the second crowd. He had come to help, just as he had in the past in similar situations. But he didn’t survive this time.

The Al Qaeda-affiliated Sunni terrorist group Lashkar-e-Jhangvi said it was responsible for both blasts, adding that the targets were Pakistani Shias. LeJ has been running a campaign of terror on the small ethno-sectarian minority of Shia-Hazaras in Quetta for a decade, and these blast that killed about 100 and injured more than 130 was part of their recently intensified campaign of ethnic cleansing.

In Memoriam Irfan Ali Khudi, 1980-2013

I knew of Khudi many years ago when I lived in Quetta, but we reconnected on social media two years ago. Most recently, I met him in Washington, DC, when he was part of a Pakistani contingent of civil society and human rights activists touring the United States under a State Department program.

That evening, I walked over to his hotel, took him out to dinner at an Indian restaurant he picked, and we talked for a while. He spoke about hist trip, what he’d seen thus far and what was to come. Then, inevitably, talk turned to the situation in Quetta.

We tried to dissect why law enforcement, the security forces and intelligence agencies had failed to stop the genocide, why they hadn’t been able to arrest or prosecute a single terrorist in connection with more than 1,000 killings. We talked about the people we knew who were no more and the young men, some of them our friends, who had perished on their way to Australia to seek refuge from the carnage.

It took me a while to notice, but somewhere during that conversation Khudi had broken down, silently crying. I had imagined him as a hardened activist who had grown used to conversations about loss because he dealt with it so often. But that night he seemed just as hurt and vulnerble as the rest of us, pained by the memories of the friends he’d lost, the distances the attacks had created between the Shia-Hazaras and the non-Shia, non-Hazara residents of Quetta. In some ways, he was more hurt than me because, while I reacted to the bloodbath from the safety of Washington, he was in the middle of it, occasionally picking up the dead bodies and, as every so often happened, pieces of bodies.

It was more real, more personal for him.

I remember suggesting to Khudi not to return to Quetta again. His life was in danger. He’d lead many protests, spoken out against the genocide, become too well known to the terrorists. He could apply for asylum in the US or join his family in Australia. He had done his share of activism on the ground. He could continue to raise his voice from a safe distance.

But he refused the suggestion and went back. He was brave in a way that many people, including myself, are not. He turned down the prospects of a comfortable, safe life in the West to the chaos and heartbreak of Quetta.

Activism in Pakistan, as in many developing countries, tends to be an elite preoccupation. People who worry about their next meal rarely lead campaigns, rarely go on hunger strike and almost never coin revolutionary Twitter hashtags. People who have a family to feed and clothe are usually too busy to go to attack sites and rescue victims, to hospitals and give blood, to protest rallies and chant slogans.

So, in a way, Khudi was an elite. But he was in the thick of it everyday. He wasn’t a dual citizen, didn’t have a safe perch, didn’t content himself with online petitions or after-work sit-ins.

But he was on Twitter most days. Which is why when I heard news of the blasts, I checked my timeline to see his updates, but they didn’t come.

Instead, I discovered his last tweet, sent hours before the blast:

Khudi’s life has been taken, but his courage and his legacy remain. RIP.

Update: If you’re in Pakistan, please consider attending this protest rally in honor of Khudi.

Irfan Ali Khudi, 1980-2013.

Irfan Ali Khudi, 1980-2013.

Everything you need to know about Afghanistan in one anecdote

For those who’ve followed my Twitter feed (@AhmadShuja), I tend to decry pundits or parachute humanitarians/journalists who write about Afghanistan in broad, general strokes. I’m particularly wary of the pervasive tactic of using one interaction or episode in their time here to explain “Afghanistan.”

Today I’ll break my own taboo and relate this short but illustrative anecdote.

The story revolves around two little girls in a Kabul neighborhood. I found them involved in a heated exchange one cold morning about a subject I couldn’t figure out. But their dialogue was fascinating and particularly telling of who they were and what they valued. I walked past them just in time to catch the following bit of exchange:

Little Girl #1: Your mom’s never been to school, she doesn’t even know her ABC’s.

Little Girl #2: YOU have been to school and know school things, but not the Qur’an.

These kids were not making Yo Mama jokes. They were in quite a serious argument, hurling insults at each other right and left. In their own little way, their quarrel is indicative of Afghan society today — the value of education alongside the value of religion, the progressive and the religious, the sources of shame and pride.

At the risk of turning this post into a don’t-abandon-Afghanistan polemic, let me also say that this is indicative of what has been gained in the last decade at the cost of billions of foreign dollars and tens of thousands of Afghan and foreign lives. Barely 5 or 6, these girls are products of the post-Taliban generation of Afghans. Education is available to them, but that they find the illiteracy of their mothers a source of shame (and therefore an insult) is telling about what they, as the next generation of Afghan women, value.

One might argue that I may have read too much into what might have just been an innocent fight between two little girls. That’s a genuine possibility, in which case I give you this:

Books on a Kabul bookstore shelf. Pictured are Mein Kampf, Khayyam, Hafiz.

The picture is from an open-air Kabul bookstore in the center of the city. Thousands of people walk past these books everyday in illiterate oblivion, others might cast a glance and carry on, a few might even purchase them. It is these purchasers who form the messy nuances and contradictions of Afghanistan.

In the bottom-center of the picture sits the Mein Kampf. To its right is a book by Afghan sufi saint Khwaja Abdullah Ansari and a copy of Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam; to its left is Hafiz; on top is a book on Nelson Mandela (and Fidel Castro).

So, next time someone makes a sweeping statement like “Afghanistan is…,” don’t believe them. It’s far more nuanced, messy and full of contradictions, like any nation of 30 million people should be. But pay attention to the little girls, their little chatters, their arguments and values. They are the future and their collective chatters are the public opinion.