The title of this blog entry refers to the name of a book by Christina Lamb, subtitled: A Personal Voyage Through Afghanistan. It is the kind of book that is so riveting, one could forget to make dinner, or even, want to eat it. The author is no stranger to “the poorest country on earth.” She brings to her writings her affection for the people there, and all that they have experienced.
I have just begun reading this book, but I know that it is one that WILL be read, all the way through. The focus of the descriptions in the first few chapters is the brutal treatment of citizens, and the punishments meted out by the Taliban for simple infractions of the Islamic law, as they see it. A woman can be whipped for wearing shoes that “click” on the pavement, or wearing white shoes (the color of their flag), or doning make-up. The author speaks of women, forced to beg for bread on the streets because their male relatives have all been murdered, and therefore, they have no food. However, without a male to accompany them in public, a severe infraction, they were beaten. She tells of unspeakable crimes, not unlike what was done to the Jews during World War II: unfathomable, unbelievable, ungodly, Satanic crimes against humanity.
As I sat reading the book, sheltered by the shade of a tall arborvitae in our yard, I watched a tiny, itsy-bitsy grasshopper, complete within himself, a living, breathing, self-sufficient organism hopping among the low-growing clover blossoms. I asked myself, “How can this be?” A lowly grasshopper can go about his business, unmolested, while somewhere on God’s earth, humans are still being stripped of their liberties, living in constant fear, and are unable to just go about the business of daily living.
I am not just referring to Afghanistan. My thinking expands to South America and the now traditional problem of “los desaparecidos” – (“the disappeared”), the men who vanish in the night, never to be seen again, kidnapped and murdered for political reasons, or no reason perhaps, just to incite fear so that some despotic “leader” can inflict control over others.
We who live in America have a far from perfect system, BUT we have the best democracy on earth, where every voice can be heard, no matter how small. Many Americans live in the lap of luxury, compared to people of other countries, some of whom do not have fresh drinking water, adequate toilet facilities, or a local Super Center or Mall to provide for their shopping needs.
While many Americans line up to buy the latest technological innovation, and even sleep in front of stores to be “the first-est with the most-est,” the rest of the world wonders where their next meal is coming from, or why they must continually be “great with child” when another mouth to feed is undesirable, and they are witness to mutilations of people they know, some of those, children.
Violence has been going on since Cain slew Abel, if not before. The strangest component to me is the connection between organized religions and violence. Just look no further than the Spanish Inquisition, a truly Black memory in Spanish history; or consider the Puritans themselves with their intimidating ways and unusual and beyond-cruel punishments. For some reason, “so-called” religious people like to inflict damage on those who do not believe as they do, or else annihilate them (as witches, infidels, or unbelievers.)
There is a real disconnect between what I know and live as an American, and how I interpret how the rest of the world lives.
Reading the book about Afghanistan made me realize once again how very lucky Americans are, and how little some of us appreciate what we have. When I returned from living abroad in 1973, the first thing that struck me was the size of American cars. The big cars seemed so environmentally wasteful. Add to that the ideas of the hippies of that decade. To go around in rags and to own nothing was cool (anti-materialism.) Things have changed and now the hippie generation owns the big cars, the houses they said they’d never have, and all the accoutrements of having some modicum of success, as happens if one lives long enough.
Blessed are the rich for they shall crunch numbers and make the system work for all.
Blessed are the poor for they often cannot help themselves and must rely on the rich to help them find their way.
Please think of the people of Iraq and Afghanistan and Guatemala, and Chile, and Cuba and so many other places, today. There are good people everywhere…and some are suffering way too much. While you are at it, please count your own blessings.
P.S. I do not yet know the significance of the title of this book, but I am sure that I will find out! Tune in for a much more upbeat, cheerier topic, tomorrow.
Patricia Cummings
