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October 22, 2010
There is on occasion a moment when the universe shows itself to be a meeting point between science and magic, and that is when I dial a number of someone I have not spoken to for some time, a whim, and I discover that very person is at that very moment dialing me. Such was the case this week when I pressed the button on my mobile’s directory for Ramazan Bashardost. “Salaam Alekum, Mister Bashardost!” “Salaam Alekum, khoobastee…” “Je suis tre bien, comment allez-vous?” I was unabashedly and falsely showing off. “Bien, merci.” “Congratulations, Mister Bashardost, I see it is official that you have won your seat in Parliament again, with real votes!” “Thank you very much.” “Do you wish to visit the students of leadership class?” “Why not?” It is this why not he always says that puts a smile on my face, as if to answer “no” was unthinkable. Yesterday October was in full bloom. The light was clear and angular, the shadows too, the sky a penetrating blue and the dust and smog had settled with the cold of the previous night. Manizha and Farida had arranged flowers from the garden on the conference table, red, pink and white roses and a cluster of yellow asters. All the girls sat expectantly around the table, pencils poised above notebooks. Half of their joy seemed to be wrapped in watching how happy I was that one of my heroes was there to teach my class. (My mood seems to be of great importance to them. So often one or another of them ask me if I am happy, if I am sad.) Tea and cake was served to all, and Bashardost launched right into a lecture. One by one the girls put their pencils down. They fell deeply into a spell, it seemed, eyes fixed, not wishing to interrupt listening with even a scratch of a pause to scribe thoughts into words on a page. As Bashardost spoke of the balance of power in Afghanistan, I could understand bits and pieces, and names: Fahim, Sayaf, Khalili, and Karzai. I watched his small hands gesturing, using the cakes to illustrate the manner in which power has been parceled out. My mind drifted. I scribbled on my pad of paper what I remembered of a graphic that I had seen that morning. It is something I’m certain Bashardost is aware of, yet I doubt many Americans are: In 2009 the United State officially spent over 663 billion dollars on its military. The next fifteen highest expenditures: China, France, U.K., Russia, Japan, Germany, Saudi Arabia, India, Italy, Brazil, South Korea, Canada, Australia, and Spain combined came to 500 billion. 43% of the entire world’s expenditure on military is American. If we pulled our allies from the statistic, how much more than all our perceived enemies together are we spending? The recent agreement to sell more weapons and planes to the Saudis highlights for me, given the above numbers, what Eisenhower warned us about. The military industrial complex has become big business, as vital to our economy as it is to our security. It constitutes 4.3% of America’s GDP. The problem here is the military doesn’t actually make anything, and even a layperson knows that like China, you have to make things to have a strong economy. So much of Wall Street’s collapse seemed to have to do with the lack of things we make and things we sell. Insurance on insurance policies is not real. If what we do make are weapons, how many end up being used against innocent people, or even against ourselves? How much of our national security depends on how much of that money spent? More to the point, how has this money enabled us to improve our chances against Al Qaeda or even finding Bin Laden? Compare this to what we give in foreign aide: 22.8 billion in 2006, one twenty-ninth of what we spend on military. Of that aid, almost a third goes to Israel and Egypt, two countries that I don’t see as somehow helplessly struggling. (We of course know why those two countries are paid off). When Americans rant and rave about big government, it seems to me what they should be ranting about is big military. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a military slasher, but is it not reasonable to ask what we get for the $163,000,000,000 we spend over and above the next 15 world military budgets combined? (I am making an assumption the budgets for the CIA, Dept. of Homeland Security, and the FBI are separate and additional. It is also my understanding the CIA practically conducted and thereby financed the war in Afghanistan to begin with.) As the national debate heats up for election day, I want to know what are America’s priorities, and what is our agenda? My attention came back to the voice of Sahar asking Bashardost a question. She and he both used a serious tone in discussing the role of America’s military in Afghanistan. I kept quiet. I felt a deep satisfaction with being in that room. I ate a cake, I sipped my chi. The two-hours went by quickly. I could see Bashardost was getting weary. The girls had more questions but I intervened and asked the final question, a personal question. Why does he do it, why not live in France, teach at a university, write a book? It was a stupid question. I’m not good at asking the right questions of adults. Bashardost didn’t look at me; he looked around at the girls, smiling a wry smile as if everyone in the room but myself knew the answer. “Well, I will ask you, isn’t America clean? Isn’t there a life there much better than your life here? I will ask you then, why it is you are here?” Earlier this week a group of American peace activists contacted me. They are friends of an acquaintance. They were in Kabul for a few days and wanted to see an orphanage. I was at Mehan and invited them over. These people are very devoted to non-violent protest. One woman, a 57 year old from Chicago was once thrown in jail for planting corn over the top of missile silos. The children played host, as they always do. So personable and open they are. They voluntarily put on a gymnastics display, and then told me to get my cittern, they wanted to sing one of our songs. We had been working on El Condor Passa, so we gave our three guests a run through. Then the girls launched into Blowin’ in the Wind, to which I could not help but comply. At this point all sixty-five girls in Mehan know the song, even tiny Seema who arrived at the orphanage only three months ago. It has become a Mehan anthem. This particular attempt was the best I’d heard the girls do in terms of confidence, annunciation and tone. Our guests’ eyes pooled with tears as they sang along. I was pleased with how interested they were, each of them taking extensive notes and asking pertinent questions. Another little thread, just as threads had been extended through our other recent guests, U.S. soldiers from Kabul Compound. Last night I played soccer with the girls and their coach. It is a great joy for me as it is for the girls, to be able to simply run free under the sky, the full moon rising, the sun setting behind the dusty mountains. I have lost a lot of muscle tone from my days of running. But I push on. Many of the girls have improved markedly in their game. Their competitive spirit is inspiring. I wondered, what if there was such a team in Jalalabad, in Herat, Mazar and even Kandahar? What wars might be won with such a simple gesture? It costs virtually nothing but a little wind, a little grass, a little love.
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