Happy Mother's Day from Kabul!

May 10, 2009 This morning as the car rounded the corner on Street #6, Taimani Watt, Kabul, Afghanistan, the balloon seller was making his way down the road, stopping to let neighborhood children admire his bouquet. I couldn’t help but smile and feel lucky to have this Mother’s Day in Kabul!

Happy Mother’s Day to one and all, near and far, especially to the two who call me Mom!

"I'll have two, please!"

Pure joy!

The balloon seller's bouquet.

Upside Down

May 8, 2009 This week, the world turned upside down for my son and his friends and classmates at Wesleyan University. A beautiful, bright, young girl, filled with promise – a junior at Wesleyan – was murdered as she worked at her job in the campus bookstore. A senseless, devastating act has caused unimaginable pain and grief to a family and a community.

Living in Kabul, I am almost half a day ahead of East Coast time, so it was not until I woke up Wednesday morning to 108 email messages that I learned of this tragedy. The subject line on many of the emails read “shooting on campus?” From there, I searched first for a message from my son and then for a message from the university administration. My son’s message sought first to reassure me that he and his roommates were safe. Safe but sad. The university’s message was also reassuring, although it informed parents that the killer was at large. The campus was immediately locked down, students instructed to remain inside their dorms and houses.

I called my son and heard the grief in his voice. He lost a friend to a car accident when they were in high school. I remember then looking at the boys in suits following their friend’s coffin up the center aisle of the church at the memorial service and thinking “boys to men.” Overnight. Boys to men. Such grief seems untimely.

I remember, too, the expressions of pain on the faces of the mother and father and sister who lost their son five years ago. And I thought of the unbearable grief thrust upon the family of this beautiful young Wesleyan student. I thought of the family receiving that phone call. I thought of Michael Roth, the President of Wesleyan University, making that phone call.

For the past two days, parents in the Wesleyan community have reached out to one another through an email list, grieving, comforting, questioning. Being held in the comfort of this community of Wesleyan parents makes me think that there is a lot more love in the world than there is hate. While none of us can claim to understand one family’s grief and loss, we all mourn for this dear girl. We all want to reach out and hold her family and our children close.

There are no easy answers. What could cause such torment in a person’s spirit that he could take a life so easily? What must his family be feeling? Why?

When things go upside down, how long does it take to put them right again?

Leeda's Speech

May 2, 2009 Imagine living in a country where a woman risks her life simply by going to school, getting an education, and getting a job. Imagine a society so dominated by religious extremism that women are not allowed to look another person in the eye, let alone laugh. Imagine a young woman coming of age in Afghanistan.

At the age of 20, fourth year Afghan law student Leeda has lived through civil unrest, oppression, and Taliban rule. She was forced to flee her home to continue her education. She was told she was a second class citizen. Hers was the best revenge: she refused to abandon her dreams.

On March 11, I had the privilege of hearing Leeda address an audience of her law school colleagues and professors. Her words capture the anguish of life for Afghan women under the Taliban and the hope for renewal that beats in the heart of every Afghan woman. Leeda points the way into the future for thousands of young Afghan women who dare to dream.

Leeda’s speech
March 11, 2009

Pretend that you woke up in the morning and found yourself crying, bound by time and change. You can’t walk or talk or even breathe easy. That’s the story of every Afghan woman.

There are three kinds of women.

One woman doesn’t feel the change anymore.

One has accepted the change as her reality, who says this is how my life should be, who accepts it the way it is.

The third is the one who struggles for freedom, who wants change on her terms.

I am the third kind.

I was born into a family where I learned that there wasn’t any difference between me and my brothers. That I could do anything. That I had the same abilities as a boy.

I was a running champion at school. No boy could outrun me. I ran fast and I was very confident. I did everything a boy did.

Then schools were closed and I had to sit at home because of the Taliban. For basic education, my family had to leave everything behind. We had to leave our country for Pakistan so I could study.

As I grew up, I realized that I was treated differently from my brothers. I was treated differently from my classmates. I was treated differently from my playmates, the boys. I was treated as a second sex.

When I walked, someone would tell me, ‘Walk like this.’ When I talked, someone would tell me, ‘Talk like this.’ I could not smile or laugh because it was not appropriate for a girl. I could not look into people’s eyes. As a girl, you should never look into people’s eyes, especially a man.

I changed from a smiling girl, a happy girl, into someone who would not look into people’s eyes, who would not try to get out of the house, who hated people, especially men, because they had all the opportunities. I looked at men and I looked at boys and they were free. They walked about freely and I could not, so I hated them.

Then I read an article by Simone de Beauvoir. She said “A woman is not born a woman, a woman is made a woman.”

That sentence made me buy her book, The Second Sex, and read it. That book changed my life. It taught me that I was not the only woman in the world that feels like I do. That I am not alone anymore. That there have been and there are women in the world who feel like me, who are like me.

I don’t feel alone anymore. The Second Sex changed my life.

And now I stand here in front of you looking into your eyes and saying that a woman is not the second sex. I am not the second sex.