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.

Leaving Kabul

April 24, 2009 Living in Kabul is hard. Leaving Kabul will be just as hard. I am accustomed in four swift months to the smell of Nan baking on an open fire on any city street, to the bumps and jostles on Street #3 as our armored car plows along to work, to the little altar of ironed laundry that greets me when I return to the Guest House after work. The muzzein’s call to prayer awakens me every morning, shakes me to awareness at noon, and ushers in the evening. I have friends here.

Some days the sensory overload knocks me out. Body odor, sewage, garbage, goats, meat, even the soot smells. I hold my breath and then I exhale. I don’t want to be one of those silly people who blanch at the slightest discomfort. I practice mindfulness. There is dust everywhere in Kabul. You can measure the passage of time in the layers of dust.

Much of the time, something here doesn’t work. Satellite TV flickers in and out. Channels switch, so what was once the BBC Lifestyle Channel is now the Peace Channel. Bollywood rules on the air waves. The generator flips on and off like clockwork every day at 4:00 PM. One stop light in Kabul City works from time to time, if you define “working” as maintaining a steady red or green light for 24 hours straight. Showerheads, made in China, work for a time and then they inexplicably explode, hurtling projectile parts in the direction of the bather.

The contrasts stack up: the Safi Landmark Hotel stands resplendent in the Shar-i-Naw district of Kabul, a glass and steel monument to 21st century form and function. The mud houses scaling the hillsides surrounding Kabul tenaciously cling to their dirt foundations. How do the owners get the building materials up those precipices, I wonder every time I look out my window?

Donkey carts cut in front of busses offering “Special for Tourists.” Cars dare each other to the brink, honk, and get on with it. School girls in clusters of a dozen or more, dressed identically in black suits and white chador, walk together giggling and holding hands. The children of Street #6 line up at the well to pump water to bring home. I wonder if they know that they live in the Afghanistan we hear about in U.S. media.

Three months is chump change in Afghanistan. Just enough time to pull back the veil and catch a glimpse of the antiquity that seeps into every corner of Afghan culture and holds this country hostage to a past century. Women in pale, dusty blue burkas shuffle through the streets, heads bowed low. Men in turbans, pakols, karakols (Karzai caps), plaid scarves, salwar kamiz. But then, just when you think you’re stuck in the last century, there are young women in tight jeans, sandals showcasing painted toenails, leather jackets, and head scarves, giving the lie to the burka. Men in Armani suits and Rolex watches straight off the cover of GQ.

Kabul’s bridal shops feature Anglo mannequins that stare off into the far horizon as if mortified to be caught in the 1950s style bridesmaid dresses they are hawking. In the Fancy Wedding Store, they are decked out in heavy satin floor length gowns in dark colors with intricate beading. Most of the mannequins lack complete arms, stopping at the elbows.

I have sunk roots here, but I have gotten tired. I have so much more than I need, while my Afghan friends struggle against such hardship, whether poverty, oppression, or violence. I am not courageous, nor brave compared to the Afghan women who put their lives on the line two weeks ago to protest a law that diminishes women. My simple acts of activism pale in comparison to young Afghan women who stood shoulder to shoulder to reject the notion that women should have to seek permission from their husbands when they want to leave the house, that women should have to “preen” at the whim of their husbands, that women should have to submit to sex on demand by their husbands. These young women stood up to the stones thrown at them and to the chants of “whores” issued by men and women alike who turned out in huge numbers to put the protestors on notice that they had better go home and submit in silence.

How am I going to leave my Afghan home? Who will tell me every morning that “you have beautiful eyes, Mum?” Who will put a dish of sweets outside my office before I arrive? Bring me hot tea? Serve me rice and Nan and fresh fruit at lunch? And who, when I thank them for all this abundance, will respond, “Why not, Miss?” which I figure is the first English phrase most of my Afghan colleagues have learned in the English course they are offered at our office. “Why not?”

These days, I dream of hugging my children. We have never been apart for this long. My beautiful Louisa who cares for her charges as a kind hearted, brilliant social worker, and on top of that worries that I am not safe, especially after hearing on the Today Show that Kabul is ‘the most dangerous city in the world today,’ who always makes sure her Ma and her brother are safe and sound. My handsome Alex whose creative passion is bursting into bloom, who quietly but surely cultivates extraordinary ideas from seed to film, who unfailingly loves his sister and his mother, who worries in his own way. I ache to hug them.

But it will be hard to leave Kabul. In some small ways – and this will sound grandiose, but I don’t know how else to say it – I see myself as a surrogate for my country. I was here the day Barack Obama was sworn in as President. That was the day my Afghan friends asked me if Barack Obama would help Afghanistan, and listed all that needs doing: security, poverty, infrastructure, employment, education, women’s rights. “Yes,” I told them, just short of a promise, “Barack Obama wants to help Afghanistan.” And I believe he does. But I also see that the proposition is enormous. I have toiled in these fields for too short a time.

A Child's Smile

April 6, 2009 This morning as the car pulled up to our office on Street #6, three children stood outside the compound watching the car ease forward. I asked them if I could take their photo, and the older girl quietly took the other two in tow.

The past week has taken a bite out of my hope for change in Afghanistan. Afghan television stations broadcast a news clip showing the public beating in Pakistan of a 17-year old widow for the "crime" of walking with a man in public. One man held her down while another flogged her, with a crowd of cheering men looking on. Then came the news that President Karzai had signed the bill I described in a previous post which demeans and objectifies Afghan women. Life should not be so hard. Women should not have to justify their place in the culture. Men should not enjoy such dominion.

The smile on the older girls' face in this photo seems to me to hold the mystery of life as an Afghan woman, handed down through the generations.

'Worse than the Taliban'

April 2, 2009 I have been in Afghanistan for three months. I have become accustomed to the sights, sounds, and smells of Kabul. I know my way to Shar-i-Naw Park, Chicken Street, and Parliament. I know a few stock phrases in Dari. ("chi gap as?" ""What's up?" "U ketab e kis?" "Whose book is this?" "manda nabAshen!" "May you not be tired!" "zenda bAshen!" "May you live long!") I have a novice's eye and ear for the culture. I understand that a woman must not ask a man the name of his wife. I know that only men pray in mosques, and on the rare occasions when women do enter a mosque, they sit in a separate room. I know that Shiite Personal Law Article 91 states that "Man can marry with four women." And Article 132 requires that "Wife is obliged to obey man if he wanted her for sexual matters."

Afghan women struggle to emerge from the long shadow cast by decades of Soviet occupation and Taliban repression. They chafe at the restraints of a culture that dictates their behavior and relegates them to second-class status. Many brave Afghan women have taken up the fight on behalf of their Afghan sisters. Theirs is a Sisyphean battle, doomed to repeat itself down the generations. The optimist in me says Afghan women can prevail. The skeptic in me says not without blood, sweat, and tears. The cynic in me says the obstacles are too great. My money is on the skeptic.

The news story below deals a vicious blow to the hope of equal rights for Afghan women. I understand that particulars of the law signed by President Karzai are especially galling in their detail and implications for the future of Afghan women.

The Guardian ~~ London ~~ Tuesday March 31, 2009
'Worse than the Taliban' - new law rolls back rights for Afghan women
Jon Boone in Kabul

Hamid Karzai has been accused of trying to win votes in Afghanistan's presidential election by backing a law the UN says legalises rape within marriage and bans wives from stepping outside their homes without their husbands' permission. The Afghan president signed the law earlier this month, despite condemnation by human rights activists and some MPs that it flouts the constitution's equal rights provisions.

The final document has not been published, but the law is believed to contain articles that rule women cannot leave the house without their husbands' permission, that they can only seek work, education or visit the doctor with their husbands' permission, and that they cannot refuse their husband sex. A briefing document prepared by the United Nations Development Fund for Women also warns that the law grants custody of children to fathers and grandfathers only.

Senator Humaira Namati, a member of the upper house of the Afghan parliament, said the law was "worse than during the Taliban". "Anyone who spoke out was accused of being against Islam," she said.The Afghan constitution allows for Shias, who are thought to represent about 10% of the population, to have a separate family law based on traditional Shia jurisprudence. But the constitution and various international treaties signed by Afghanistan guarantee equal rights for women. Shinkai Zahine Karokhail, like other female parliamentarians, complained that after an initial deal the law was passed with unprecedented speed and limited debate. "They wanted to pass it almost like a secret negotiation," she said. "There were lots of things that we wanted to change, but they didn't want to discuss it because Karzai wants to please the Shia before the election."

Although the ministry of justice confirmed the bill was signed by Karzai at some point this month, there is confusion about the full contents of the final law, which human rights activists have struggled to obtain a copy of. The justice ministry said the law would not be published until various "technical problems" had been ironed out.

After seven years leading Afghanistan, Karzai is increasingly unpopular at home and abroad and the presidential election in August is expected to be extremely closely fought. A western diplomat said the law represented a "big tick in the box" for the powerful council of Shia clerics.

Leaders of the Hazara minority, which is regarded as the most important bloc of swing voters in the election, also demanded the new law. Ustad Mohammad Akbari, an MP and the leader of a Hazara political party, said the president had supported the law in order to curry favour among the Hazaras. But he said the law actually protected women's rights."Men and women have equal rights under Islam but there are differences in the way men and women are created. Men are stronger and women are a little bit weaker; even in the west you do not see women working as firefighters."Akbari said the law gave a woman the right to refuse sexual intercourse with her husband if she was unwell or had another reasonable "excuse". And he said a woman would not be obliged to remain in her house if an emergency forced her to leave without permission.

The international community has so far shied away from publicly questioning such a politically sensitive issue. "It is going to be tricky to change because it gets us into territory of being accused of not respecting Afghan culture, which is always difficult," a western diplomat in Kabul admitted. Soraya Sobhrang, the head of women's affairs at the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission, said western silence had been "disastrous for women's rights in Afghanistan"."What the international community has done is really shameful. If they had got more involved in the process when it was discussed in parliament we could have stopped it. Because of the election I am not sure we can change it now. It's too late for that."But another senior western diplomat said foreign embassies would intervene when the law is finally published.

Some female politicians have taken a more pragmatic stance, saying their fight in parliament's lower house succeeded in improving the law, including raising the original proposed marriage age of girls from nine to 16 and removing completely provisions for temporary marriages."It's not really 100% perfect, but compared to the earlier drafts it's a huge improvement," said Shukria Barakzai, an MP. "Before this was passed family issues were decided by customary law, so this is a big improvement."

Karzai's spokesman declined to comment on the new law.

The Boys Who Live on Street #6

March 23, 2009 The boys in this photo live on Street #6 near my office. I see them rough-housing and tumbling in the street in the morning when I come to work. One day, I couldn't resist. I got out of the car and asked them if I might take their photograph. The tallest boy smiled willingly; his playmates were reticent. Soon three old men gathered on the sidelines to orchestrate the moment. It was not clear if the old men were related to the boys, but regardless of bloodlines, they wielded authority over the children as they clucked and hissed and snapped their fingers to get the boys to pose.

Some who have seen this photo have remarked on the sad expressions on the faces of the boys. That surprised me. I think the serious expressions were affected in deference to the formal nature of the portrait. Most mornings when I see these boys playing, they are smiling and laughing and hugging each other.

Greetings from Kabul

March 9, 2009 I am a Templeton woman. My grandfather, John Wesley Templeton, was one of seven children – six boys and one girl – who grew up in a rough-and-tumble household in Palo Alto, California with strict parents who kept a bottle of whiskey in the home “for medicinal purposes” only.

My mother was the only child of John and Lorraine Templeton. My great-uncle, Dink Templeton, a 1920 Olympics gold medalist with the U.S. rugby team, and his wife, Cathy, had two daughters: Jean and Robin (Binnie). Between them, Jean and Binnie have 8 children. Those 8 children, including Robin and Marti, Jean’s daughters, are my second cousins.

It has only been later in life that Robin and Marti and I have discovered each other as cousins and as friends, and I count myself lucky to have these two amazing women in my life. Both are artists. Robin’s medium is the written word. She is a novelist and a poet and a teacher. Marti paints extraordinary canvasses, filled with vibrant worldly images, both material and ethereal.

Last week, Robin was selected to read an original poem at the 27th annual Santa Cruz [California] Celebration of the Muse. I asked her if I could share the poem she wrote and she agreed. Her writing reminds me of the power of words to move and inspire.

With love and thanks, Robin, I share your poem here.

(for Ann and her Afghan Sisters- tashakor!)

Greetings from Kabul!

I AM FINE! my cousin Ann writes.

She is working in Afghanistan,
trying to bring some order to the country.
I write progress reports, she says.

Shuttered in a pink guest house,
built by a drug lord, with Persian rugs,
marble floors, she’s grateful for the Afghan cook
who prepares American cuisine,
for the private bathroom with a hot shower.

I can’t go outside on foot, at all.
Every Friday, I go to town
in an armored truck
with a driver and bodyguard.

Children sell gum in the streets.
Donkey carts mix with taxis.
Women in burkas beg on the corners,
mingle with prostitutes, also in burkas,
their fingernails colored-coded.

I express my fears reluctantly.
She knows what I’m thinking:
Rocket attacks, kidnap, rape, beheadings.

I’m not afraid.
Wherever you live,
circumstances quickly
become the norm.

She and I share a matriarchal bloodline
have sought the edge most of our lives.
Lately, mine blunts as hers sharpens,
a bone-handled paradigm.

She asks for photographs of my three grandsons,
to hang in office, to remind her of home.
I imagine their faces adorning her wall,
worry what passersby will think of these fair, All-American boys.

She insists we only hear the bad news.
I’m trying to raise money
for my friend Humaira Haqmal.
who drives the Taliban-controlled district
to Kabul every day to teach at the law school.
Humaira works with the Afghan Sisters Movement.

I stumble on spelling Afghan.
The “h” unsettles me.
Is this the first time I’ve written the word?

I am going to raise money for Humaira, my cousin vows.
I am going to write about these Afghan women.

Humaira, Humaira, of an arranged marriage,
who is raising six children,
has registered 600 women
for the August election.

August election? Where have I been?

My cousin is keen
on the incoming 17,000 American troops.
I remember her as a pacifist,

imagine the juxtaposition
of her carefully placed head scarf
and the carefully placed body guard.

I love the Afghan people.
I love the city of Kabul.

Soft rain taps the roof.
I email Ann at midnight
from my warm bed,
my husband snoring softly beside me.
I think of her friend Humaira,
stopped at a roadblock,
wonder what she is wearing,
how she speaks to the soldiers.

Tashakor
Thank you

--Robin Somers March 7, 2009

Kabul, the most remote of capitals

March 4, 2009 From James Michener's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Caravans.

We stayed there in the snowy moonlight for some time, alone on the edge of an ancient city with the Hindu Kush rising to our left and the immensity of Asia all about us: to the east the Khyber Pass, to the north the Oxus River and the plains of Samarkand, to the south the bazaars of Kandahar and the limitless deserts of Baluchistan, and to the west the strange lake that vanishes in air, and the minarets of Shiraz and Isfahan. It was a moment of immensity in which I sensed the hugeness of Central Asia, that semi-world with a chaderi over its face.... It was the smell of frozen fields, biting on the nostril, the aroma of the bazaar, great and filthy even in the night, and the clean, sweet smell of pine trees that hid behind garden walls. Those were moments I shall never forget, when the vastness of Asia... was borne in upon me and I wondered how I had been lucky enough to draw an assignment in Kabul, the most remote of capitals.