Podcasting since 2004; Conversations, conflicts, adventures and monologues from around the world.
4 Days after the 2010 Parliamentary Elections in Afghanistan, some audio reflections on how it all went and what is to come.
Another fine source for post-election news, my good friends at Democracy International
Afghanistan is a country of many ethnicities, tribes and languages, which many people can explain to you if you have the time to listen. But there is one language you don’t often read about that is spoken throughout Kabul and no doubt the nation. In café’s and restaurants, over lunch and late into the night after dinner, Afghans and foreigners alike, are speaking the language of war.
The language of war consists of words connected to violence and armed conflict, both in the present and the past tense. It is made up of the saddest and most terrifying stories; about murder, kidnapping, threats, moments of extreme panic, and people who have been lost to any of these. It is spoken by those who have been here for 5 years or 5 days, spoken while passing the rice or just passing time at a friend’s house. Beyond any of this, it is spoken with an ease and regularity that makes it one of the most widely spoken and understood languages in the nation.
I find history to be one of the most important and interesting topics one can discuss, no matter how exciting or mundane. I find personal experiences to be a constant source for learning and inspiration. Yet after almost one month listening the accounts of what it was like in what terrible situation, from both participants and observers, I find myself hating history and personal experience. Unable to listen to the language of war because something about it seems so bad for everyone in the conversation.
Surely there are import lessons to be learned from discussing these topics. Surely if our nations, our fellow humans, can carry out all the terrible actions of war, then we can confront them and not be afraid to examine these events among friends. Why should the language of war be considered taboo, when hiding the truth can only serve to keep us from learning lessons and not repeating mistakes.
While I know how important testimony and understanding are, especially in the context of war or violence, I am taken aback by the language of war. I want to stop the stories. I want to turn up the music. As strange as it may seem, the more the language of war is spoken, the less meaning it has to me, the previously outspoken citizen journalist.
We rambled into the Kabul Golf Club one afternoon in September, as we had heard there was a golf course in the outskirts of Kabul where one could play nine holes like no others in this world. What we found was a charming and forgotten course with a staff that are extremely happy to see you. Among the stars of the day was Mohammad Afzal Abdul, club Pro and our escort the entire afternoon. He has run the club for the last 40 years, facing imprisonment twice and a laundry list of problems as Afghanistan has struggled over the last few decades. The following is a video interview I did with him as we made our way through the course.
It is Friday night, election eve, here in Kabul. The walk home from dinner was quiet, dark, and strange feeling. One might interpret this atmosphere as the calm before the storm, as tomorrow at 5am polling stations will start to open all over the nation.
At work my Afghan colleagues mention at what time they plan to vote during the course of the workday. On the way home I asked the cab driver if he would vote tomorrow, “Oh yes… oh yes” he said without hesitation. At the front gate I greeted a neighbor and asked him about voting plans tomorrow, “Yes for sure” responds my neighbor, as if the question itself does not need asking. A seemingly calm city and a hand full of enthusiastic citizens surely skews my vision of what is certainly not a rosy picture across the country.
There is no shortage of threats and conflicts surrounding both the elections and the campaign leading up to them. Many pointed to the kidnapping of a candidate earlier today, as a sign of how bad things are. Earlier this month the murders of campaign workers and candidates, more stories that have echoed through the globe, as examples of a process that couldn’t possibly be considered successful.
But what about in cities throughout Afghanistan where a record number of candidates (2,577+) are not only on the ballot but actively campaigning. Candidates of different cultures, tribes, gender, ages, and political backgrounds, all taking part in the process despite the risks and the cynicism. There is also the voting material, destined for 5,897 polling stations, being carefully shipped and stored to be ready for the voting process that begins in a matter of hours. In many remote areas of the country, this essential material is transported by donkey, as the most reliable and time-tested form of transportation. The list of people and resources mobilized for these elections is of a scale that cannot be simply written off as insignificant.
Yet these words will be drowned out almost immediately as the bad things that have happened and will happen get amplified by those trying to measure what is happening here. People demand conclusions as quickly and easy to read as possible, which often means nevermind what has gone right, and what is commendable and positive about this process, it is easier to remember and tell the stories of bombs, kidnappings, fraud and dysfunction.
For my part, even before the voting has begun, I know what I’ve seen here, and I’ve spent lots of time reading and hearing reports from across this nation. Regardless of what the media says and what the pundits conclude or how they choose to insult those that share my observations and opinions, I’m telling you that something good and special is going on here. This phenomenon does not end on election day, there will be no declaration of victory or defeat, this is simply one more step along a very difficult path.
On the eve of Eid a large group of friends made their way to an oasis outside Kabul to have a relaxing dinner. Sure enough I brought my recorder and before you know it, we got into discussions about the importance of the holiday and eventually, the history of homosexuality in Afghanistan. This recording was made during the course of our dinner and as such drifts off and is interrupted occasionally. Both topics could surely be developed further, but at the very least, this podcast might provide a good introduction.
As hard as it has been to record a video entry from Afghanistan, I’m finally getting the hang of when is a good moment. The following video entry was recorded from a friend’s balcony on the first day of Eid. Just a little video hello, one week before the much anticipated Afghan Parliamentary Elections.