Third Letter from Afghanistan – 6 November 2008
Friends – I started writing almost a month ago – and then
got diverted – so I will start again, and keep what I wrote (brief description
of a trip to Iran)
as an addendum. Yesterday – November 5 – was a great day – the election of
Barack Obama – and not only because it was a victory for the civil rights
movement, but because he is bright, and inspiring, and principled – for the
first time in many years I felt hopeful about the future for this little planet
of ours that is in such dire peril. Perhaps, if the US begins putting its resources and
creativity into addressing the real challenges of the 21st century,
there may be a future for our grandchildren. This morning, I sent a brief note
on that point to Harry’s sons and grandkids, when I received an email from an
old American friend (Hurst Hannum) who wrote: “For Americans, the resounding
election of our first bi-racial president is a truly historic and wondrous
occasion, and the impact over the next four years of President Barack Hussein
Obama on the psychology of the United States cannot be underestimated. In 2008,
America
finally rejected appeals to fear and ignorance and embraced a man who is
intelligent and articulate -- indeed, who is capable of a soaring eloquence
that has moved millions. This is a good man, a man of integrity and vision.
He is also an extraordinary politician, which should reassure us rather
than give us pause.” Another friend wrote: “What an Amazing Moment.” So I sent
an email to Jesse, and Nate and Andy and Matt – and to Kyle and Penn and Nikki:
As I stood yesterday morning in UNHCR's office in Kabul and
listened -- first to John McCain's more than gracious concession speech - and
then to Obama, I felt for the first time in many years a sense of hope for the
future of this small planet of ours. Because, clearly, who sits in the White
House and how he governs impacts the world - not just the 50 states. The
reference Obama's speech, to people in places like Afghanistan crowding around the
television, hit the mark in Kabul.
And I thought - if Harry's up there looking down on this all (as I'm sure he
must be), he would take great satisfaction and pride that his years of
commitment and dedication to achieving racial justice in America has helped
lead to this moment. Somewhere in the clutter of our basement, there are
still the posters of Martin Luther King and Angela Davis that
covered the walls of his office -- though the picture of Lenin that was on
his office door was hastily taken down when he had a visit from the
Treasury Police in Chicago - because he had written a letter to President Ford
challenging his definition of "an open administration". (Let
me not mention that he suggested that it might lead him to teach his students
to stuff rags into empty coke bottles. I am really sensitive to that imagery
these days.) This was just after Kissinger admitted to the CIA's involvement in the supporting the Pinochet
military coup against of Allende in Chile. Harry was the sole
Professors at UCLA in the 1960s prepared to teach "Black Politics" -
because, in a department of 50, there was only one black, and he taught African
politics. Harry also served on American Political Science Committee on the
Status of Blacks in the Profession, to get more blacks engaged in
political science and politics. I also remember one day in Chicago in the early
1970s, when we went together to a Jesse Jackson rally -- and we talked
then about the possibility of one day seeing an American black
President. A dream - an illusion - a reality now. So - yesterday
was very much Harry's moment.
I am also energized because I just came back to Afghanistan
after spending nearly days participating in what is called the WEM – a Workshop
in Emergency Management – basically, a UNHCR training program to prepare people
on how to deal with emergencies in the deep field. There were 38 of us in the
program – in teams of 9 or 10 people -- which took place in Skovde, in Sweden, at a
school of the Swedish Rescue and Safety Agency. Of these, 25 were UNHCR staff
and the rest of the participants came from other agencies or programs -- from 30 different countries. For 4 days and nights, we lived in a tented camp in the middle of a Swedish
military training ground – doing a simulation of a response to a refugee
crisis: more precisely – and the weather not withstanding (it was cold and
rainy most of the time), we were in Eastern Chad, it was March, and we had to
deal with 10,000 refugees (largely women and children) from Darfur who crossed
the border but were in danger of refoulement back to Sudan. We needed to
prepare a plan (with a budget and time-table) for emergency assistance at the
border, to build a camp (with appropriate shelter, water, health care services,
etc.) at a site 50 kilometres away, and to transport the refugees – including
the sick – in safety and dignity. I was the leader of the Delta Team, which was
definitely “the winning team”!! We were joined for a day and a half by the
Deputy High Commissioner of UNHCR, Craig Johnson, who had the privilege of
being abducted with us – hooded, roughed up, and eventually rescued – by the
rebels (i.e., the Swedish army). We also had to deal with armed men at
checkpoints, with the victims of a car accident in need first aid from us, to
measure fields and find our way with a GPS,
to use the radio and the satellite phones – and most importantly, to work
together as a team when it was cold, our food was KP rations (admittedly rather
good), the toilets and showers were 100 meters away, and we were under tight
time pressure. I got lots of photos – I will append a few here – learned a lot
from my colleagues as well as my instructors, and was flattered to learn that –
in a discuss on how old I was – the guestimate was between 52 and 58. Which is
great because – as I’m sure most of you know, for some time now I have been
celebrating my 50th birthday every year. I also learned – last week – that the woman
who has just come out to head up the OCHA Humanitarian Team is 72 – so I may
still have a few more years that I can spend in the field .
My time in Afghanistan
is, however, drawing to a close. I leave here on 27 November. The year went incredibly fast. I have not
gotten to all the areas of the country I had hoped to visit (to Jalalabad and
Maimana) but I have been to Bamyan – spectacular – and to Mazar, Kunduz,
Gardez, Khost, Hirat and Kandahar.
This is, truly, a fascinating country with its mixture of people – Hazara,
Pashtun, Tajik, Uzbek – with its Kuchi nomads – the vibrant colors of the
dresses of the children – the oppressive blue of the pleated bourkas – the
stark, harsh but beautiful landscape. Unfortunately, security has made it very
difficult to really interact with the Afghans or to really drink in the sights
and smells of the country. Now, winter is approaching. Yet, for the past two
months, the weather has been glorious. Clear days, blue skies, the roses all in
bloom – who would have thought that Kabul
is the city of roses. But, over the past months, the situation has become more
dangerous – with many more attacks on NGOs and humanitarian personnel (there
were 3 women from International Rescue Committee killed in broad daylight by an
attack on their convoy only a few miles from Kabul, an American NGO woman
gunned down in Kabul a few weeks ago, the abduction of French NGO workers and
attacks on convoys if food and other humanitarian assistance, and many many
Afghan colleagues targeted). Criminality has become ubiquitous (the Director
and Deputy of DHL, whose offices are half a block from UNHCR’s compound, were
shot dead in their car late last month), abductions have become commonplace
daily events (largely for money, rather than political), suicide bombings continue (the Serena Hotel
just before I arrived in January, the attack on the Indian Embassy, to the
recent bombing on the Ministry of Information and Culture), and a man was shot
in the stomach last week in the “safe” neighborhood where we live. So we travel
even more carefully – using different routes – and in armored jeeps. And of
course – civilian casualties from aerial bombings by the international military
forces do not win hearts and minds – not when they land on wedding parties or
kill women and children by flattening houses when people are asleep at night.
In all honesty, I don’t know if I accomplished much while I
was here – that is, if my presence made anything better for the IDPs in Afghanistan. That
is always amongst the most troubling of questions. But I know that I am
extremely privileged to be able to be engaged in these operations in these
troubled but beautiful areas of the world.
I’ll be home for the holidays again – all of December – and
should be redeployed in January. One of the nicest things that has happened to
me this month was that I have reconnected with a friend from colleague who I
haven’t seen in perhaps 30 years, and she is in Toronto, so we will be able to get together
soon; and that I just heard from another friend in the US after
perhaps 12 years. He has a quote at the end of his email worth sharing: “A
friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you
when you have forgotten the words.” Friends,
stay well. Drop me a note if the spirit moves you and time permits.
As ever - Laurie
Addendum – to Third
Letter from Afghanistan
– 10 September : Almost 5 months since I wrote last – which was just as I
was about to depart on a two week trip to Iran, where I met Jesse and Rox and
learned that I was to become a grandmother in December. That is not so far away
now, and I am already looking forward to returning to Toronto for the impending birth (scheduled for
mid December). And since Roxanna’s sister Sarah (in Montreal) is also expecting and her brother
Ramin is expecting his second (in London,
UK) – it feels
like baby boomer season. But I got diverted.
We had a fantastic two weeks in Iran – welcomed warmly by Rox’s paternal
side of the family who live largely in Tehran,
including her grandmother who is 90, with all her wits about her. Then, with a
car and driver loaned us by Rox’s cousin, and her father as our guide, we went
to Kashan (where we visited some magnificent old mansions and a part of Rox’s
more conservative side of the family), to the picturesque village of Abayane
(clinging to on the side of a mountain, and old men and women clinging to the
backs of donkeys), to Esfahan (with its
breathtaking blue mosque and palaces), to Persepolis (the stately ruins), and
Shiraz (home of the Shiraz grape that Australia has somehow passed off as its
own) – and later to the Caspian sea
(where they have the best pomegranate paste in the world). We ate our way
through all of Iran’s
traditional dishes, and then some. And I, of course, took hundreds of photos. Though I still have not taken the time to sort
or mount them on the Internet. (I do use Facebook for putting up my photos,
protests from some of my more sophisticated – stuckup? Friends not
withstanding.) What struck me most – apart from the beauty of Iran’s
architecture, gardens and crafts – was how modern the country is in terms of
infrastructure – its modern road network, the skyscrapers in Tehran, that you can get all the latest
gadgets and appliances in the shops. So when people mistakenly compare Iran and Iraq, the
latter warn-torn and devastated, you realize how distorted the information is that
is put out by our mass media. Modernization is, of course, relative and
tempered by tradition and religion in Iran. It is still the law that
women must wear a hijab (head scarf). Many women wear the black chador (I
reflexively kept thinking of them as Catholic nuns), though you also see many
young women testing the limits, with high heels and designer jeans visible
under the chadors; the chadors or the hijabs heavily decorated with beads,
braids and glitter; and many young women with heavily made up eyes and
beautifully patterns hena hands – and sometimes walking hand in hand with young
men. The mix of modernity and tradition, daringly glamorous but not quite
violating the law or the social mores. A
sidebar: Everywhere we went in Shiraz,
which Ali Khamenei was then visiting, there were posters and billboards of his
portrait -- the Supreme Leader – clearly
a personality cult. But to return to Afghanistan – on Monday we had a National Holiday here – Masoud Day – in commemoration of the Commander of the Northern Alliance. ……
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