Two Afghan women’s stories

After the land of turquoise blue lakes, awesome cliffs and sweet pomegranates had been turned into a place of terror, violence and death,” I wrote of Afghanistan in 2013, “after the once fabled land of misty valleys, craggy hills and historic monuments had become a battlefield, what is there to do?”

Time was when we associated the word Afghan with something beautiful—woven blankets and shawls called Afghans that kept the body warm and comfy, or with canine royalty, the Afghan hound that made heads turn, its long tresses something to behold. Both have their origin in Afghanistan. Sadly, now the word Afghan or Afghanistan evokes images of war and the takeover of the deadly Islamic extremist Taliban that turned the country into a land of fear and death. The Afghan people were left on their own after the pullout of the United States and North Atlantic Treaty Organization forces in 2021. With foreign nongovernment organizations leaving, too.

The Inquirer’s banner story three days ago: “PH starts temporary hosting of 300 Afghans” with the kicker “Under the 2024 deal between Washington and Manila, the US government will shoulder all expenses of the Afghan nationals until their special immigration visas for resettlement to the United States have been processed.”

My neutral thoughts: the Philippines is indeed a refugee-friendly country—for the Jews during World War II, the fleeing Vietnamese and other beleaguered Southeast Asians after the Vietnam War that ended in 1975, and with the communists taking over, and now the Afghans being settled in safety. A whole story there—where exactly the Afghans are being housed, who they are (former US collabs?). I had written refugees stories in the past but as to the Afghans in our shores, we know little as of now.

After reading the Inquirer story, I watched “In Her Hands,” a Netflix documentary on Zarifa Ghafari, at 26, the youngest female mayor in Afghanistan. A recipient of the 2020 International Women of Courage Award from the US state department, the highly educated city mayor of Maidan Shar, faced danger while Kabul was falling into the hands of the Taliban. The documentary covers more than two years in Ghafari’s life (with glimpses of the Taliban-controlled areas, including a woman’s execution). It was directed by Marcel Mettelsiefen and Tamana Ayazi. Former US first lady and state secretary Hillary Clinton and daughter Chelsea were among the executive producers. More later.

My only close encounter with an Afghan was when I interviewed 2013 Ramon Magsaysay awardee Habiba Sarabi, then 57, the first and only woman governor in a fiercely patriarchal nation that had gone through years of suffering brought about by foreign domination, warring tribes, warlordism, and terrorist attacks. In choosing her, the Ramon Magsaysay Award Foundation recognized “her bold exercise of leadership to build up a functioning local government against daunting odds, … serving her people with a hopeful persistence grounded in her abiding commitment to peace and development in Afghanistan.” Sarabi was appointed governor of Bamyan after the fall of the Taliban in 2001.

But the Taliban were back in power since 2021. Then US President Donald Trump’s recall of US troops hastened their comeback.

My takeaway quote from Sarabi: “When you educate a man, you educate only a person. But when you educate a woman, you educate a community. That is why we have to work with families, so that we can educate the men.” Now, I wonder where Sarabi is, if she is safe.

Ghafari said something similar, to paraphrase: “When you educate a woman, you influence several generations.” To war freaks: “Drop the gun and take up the pen.”

“In Her Hands” begins with a fast-forward mad scramble in Kabul airport on Aug. 15, 2021, that evoked 1975 “Fall of Saigon” scenes. Helicopters hovering, airplanes filling up with fleeing Afghans. Ghafari must leave, too, but only if her husband would come, too. Or they die together, she said. For cinematic effect, while heading for the plane, she scooped sand to take along, her link to the land of her birth. The couple were headed for Germany.

The documentary dwells mostly on Ghafari as mayor, her kind of leadership in a society where women were second class. And so young at that. Ghafari’s own father, a former military man, had always questioned his beloved daughter’s grit and daring. (The documentary covered the immediate aftermath of his assassination, his family in grief.)

Worth mentioning is Massoum, Ghafari’s faithful driver and bodyguard who felt abandoned, when, first, Ghafari was called to Kabul to be with a Ministry of Defense program, and later, when she had to leave Afghanistan. Together, they had survived an ambush. The latter part of the documentary shows Massoum making friends with the Taliban, particularly with those who had attempted to kill both him and his boss. Could he forgive? he was asked.

There is more to the documentary than could be said here. It got good reviews but has its share of bashers. Read about Ghafari and Sarabi—Afghan women in the tempest who persisted to lead in a land so broken but once so beautiful.

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