Massoud

















December, 2001. How good to see the expressions of the Afghan women (for one actually saw their faces then) after Afghanistan had been freed from the terror and tyranny of the Taliban.
True that to a considerable extent many of them have since been put back in their place by the die-hard dogma dictated by ancient custom or ignorance and apprehension, but even this is far more tolerable than the slow death that had been previously programmed by the Taliban regime.

How can one not be moved by 'Pour l'amour de Massoud', written so devotedly by his wife Sediqa? Or horrified in reading what the Russians were capable of doing in their vain attempt to impose the last bad breath of communism in Afghanistan. And just as shocked by the barbaric cruelty of the Taliban who assume the right, in God's name, to do evil.

But this important and valuable historic account is also a love story. One is guided through the long tunnel of horror, to eventually see the light, the hope for Afghanistan and everything positive that Commander Massoud defended and so courageously fought for. First against the Russians, then against the Taliban. Over 20 years he fought, yet the wars never changed him, never made him bitter, never took away his smile or destroyed his love, his integrity and his hope.
His children are also the living proof of this, and it would be natural that they, and not only his son, honour their father when the time comes, by helping to realise his dream, which would also be theirs, for Afghanistan.
What he did for his country, what he stood for, should never be forgotten. His magnificent example and contribution could not possibly have died when he was assassinated the 9th of September, 2001.

Massoud knew that he faced an international enemy. He knew that the war against the Taliban was not simply a national conflict to free Afghanistan.

Europe, like an old man in carpet slippers with tea and biscuit comfortably installed in front of his favourite television soap-box series, was reluctant to answer the door when Massoud knocked. No doubt when he was received and finally, politely listened to, the appropriate gestures and replies were made in response to what Massoud convincingly conveyed- that if Europe and the Occident didn't help soon in this war, they too would eventually fall victim to terrorism. But then to no avail.

Massoud was murdered by false journalists just before the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre in New York were hit and crumbled to dust. Thousands had to die before the Occident moved, and one wonders if Europe would even then have budged if America hadn't first led the way to free Afghanistan, and then Iraq. For Iraq too was freed, at least in principle, before the counter reactions.
In both case these were generated by al-Qaeda, and the Taliban, who are essentially the same organisation with the same objective. With time it's clear that the defence of both young democracies is part of the same global war.

The Arab States look on passively. Whilst they might be hoping that Europe and America will get 'the lesson they deserve', they would also fear what could become, if not impeded, an international tidal wave. An ugly deformation of the 'Jihad'.
To help appease the beast, even the more moderate Arab States and countries such as Egypt and Saudi-Arabia seem to be making a show of a more devoted practice of the Sharia, whilst a less moderate country is making an additional show of its open support of terrorism.
Such is the situation seven years since a fine man was killed, two days before thousands of innocent victims needlessly lost their lives in New York.

Disillusion creates doubt. One questions the wisdom of governmental decisions when results are not as positive or as rapidly gained as anticipated. But history often repeats itself if one learns nothing from it.

Had the old man got up from his armchair sooner, he might have been able to do something about Hitler, before it was too late. He might even have been able to change history in Afghanistan, New York and Iraq, had he really listened, understood and immediately reacted to Massoud's final call for help.

If history teaches us that there is always a reason for everything, It doesn't always succeed in teaching us how to avoid repeating it.

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Massoud

Dicembre, 2001. Quanto fa bene vedere le espressioni delle donne afgane (per chi prima non poteva vedere le loro facce) dopo che l'Afghanistan era stato liberato dal terrore e dalla tirannia dei talibani.
Vero è che in misura considerevole molte sono state rimesse al loro posto di prima da dogma conservatore dettato dall'abitudine o dall'ignoranza antica, e da uomini apprensivi, ma persino questo è molto più tollerabile della morte lenta che precedentemente era stata programmata dal regime dei talibani.

Come non si può essere commossi da "Pour l'amour de Massoud" scritto con tanta devozione da sua moglie Sediqa? O sconvolti nella lettura di ciò che i russi erano capaci di fare nel loro tentativo ad imporre l'ultimo fetido fiato di comunismo in Afghanistan. E altrettanto scossi dalla crudeltà barbarica dei talibani che presuppongono il diritto, nel nome di Dio, a commettere malvagità.

Ma questo racconto storico importante e prezioso è egualmente una storia di amore. Si è guidato attraverso il lungo tunnel dell'orrore, per vedere finalmente la luce, la speranza per l'Afghanistan e tutto quello di positivo che il Comandante Massoud difendeva e per cui combatteva con tanto coraggio. Prima contro i russi, poi contro i talibani. Per più di 20 anni aveva combattuto, tuttavia mai le guerre lo avevano cambiato, mai lo avevano reso amaro, mai avevano tolto il suo sorriso o distrutto il suo amore, la sua integrità e la sua speranza.
I suoi bambini sono anche la prova vivente di questo, e sarebbe naturale se essi, e non soltanto suo figlio, onorassero il loro padre quando viene il momento, per aiutare a realizzare il suo sogno, che sarebbe anche il loro, per l'Afghanistan.
Ciò che aveva fatto per il suo Paese, ciò che difendeva, non dovrebbe mai essere dimenticato. Non è possibile che il suo esempio e contributo magnifici avessero potuto morire quando fu assassinato il 9 settembre, 2001.

Massoud sapeva che stava affrontando un nemico internazionale. Sapeva che la guerra contro i talibani non era semplicemente un conflitto nazionale per liberare l'Afghanistan.

L'Europa, come un anziano in pantofole di stoffa con il suo tè e biscotti accomodato confortevolmente davanti alla sua serie sceneggiata preferita in televisione, era riluttante a rispondere alla porta quando Massoud ha bussato. Senza dubbio quando è stato ricevuto e finalmente, lo si ha gentilmente ascoltato, i gesti e le risposte adatti erano stati fatti in risposta a ciò che Massoud ha trasmesso in modo convincente- che se l'Europa e l'Occidente non aiutassero presto in questa guerra, col tempo ugualmente cadrebbero vittime del terrorismo. Ma allora fu inutile.

Massoud è stato assassinato dai giornalisti falsi prima che le Torri Gemelli del World Trade Centre a New York fossero colpite, crollando infine in polvere.
In migliaia hanno dovuto morire prima che l'Occidente si muovesse e ci si chiedesse se l'Europa si sarebbe allora mossa se per prima l'America non fosse andata avanti per liberare l'Afghanistan, poi l'Iraq. Perché anche l'Iraq è stato liberato, almeno in linea di principio, prima delle contro-reazioni.
In entrambi i casi queste sono state generate da al-Qaeda e dai talibani, che sono essenzialmente la stessa organizzazione con lo stesso obiettivo. Col tempo è chiaro che la difesa di entrambe le giovani democrazie fa parte della stessa guerra globale.

Passivamente gli Stati Arabi stanno a guardare. Mentre potrebbero sperare che l'Europa e l'Occidente 'ottengano la lezione che si meritano', egualmente temerebbero ciò che potrebbe diventare, se non impedito, un maroso internazionale. Una deformazione brutta del 'Jihad'.
Per contribuire a calmare la bestia, persino i Paesi arabi più moderati quali l'Egitto e l'Arabia Saudita sembrano stare facendo mostra di una pratica più devota della Sharia, mentre un Paese meno moderato sta facendo mostra supplementare del suo sostengo aperto al terrorismo.
Tale è la situazione sette anni dopo che un grand'uomo è stato ucciso, due giorni prima che migliaia di vittime innocenti abbiano perso le loro vite inutilmente a New York.

La delusione crea il dubbio. Si mette in discussione la saggezza delle decisioni governative quando i risultati non sono così positivi o ottenuti tanto velocemente quanto anticipato. Ma spesso la storia si ripete se non si trae insegnamento da essa.

Se si fosse alzato prima, l'anziano dalla sua poltrona, forse avrebbe potuto fare qualcosa circa Hitler, prima che fosse troppo tardi. Persino avrebbe potuto cambiare la storia in Afghanistan, New York ed Iraq se avesse realmente ascoltato, capito e reagito più presto alla richiesta finale di aiuto da parte di Massoud.

Se la storia ci insegna che ci sia sempre un motivo per tutto, non riesce sempre a insegnarci come evitare di ripeterla.
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Text and image (from the photograph of Hiromi Nagakura, with thanks)
© Mirino (PW) September, 2008

Ouroboros


Passing by the local rubbish dump, a few thoughts were triggered off by what I saw discarded there. There were bicycles, televisions, computers, cordless telephones, 'old' sinks, 'old' parabolas, plastic toys, 'old' desktop printers, 'old' refrigerators, 'old' microwave ovens and 'old' electric cookers etc. Most of the electric stuff was probably still in good working order.

When I was young nothing was thrown away. Bicycles, for example, were lovingly cleaned, oiled, repaired, refitted with new tires when the old ones were worn down to nothing, and generally treated as if they were to last a life time. (Regular oiling was essential in those days which is also why one dreaded the possibility of the chain coming off ).
Metal or wooden toys were 'handed down' and clothes were too. Even socks were repaired ('re-darned') then. Televisions of course were a luxury. Those combined with radio were large, about a meter high and quite heavy. The tube and huge valves were lovingly cased in precious wood and one was perfectly at ease to watch 'Hopalong Cassidy' in black and white on the nine inch screen, from the other side of the room, and reasonably patient during the 'We apologise for the breakdown, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible' pauses, or on discovering the tuning signal instead of the program.
Below the screen on either side of the 'set' there were usually two double knobs. The left combination consisted of 'volume' and 'tone'. The right combination consisted of 'contrast' and 'brightness'. More often than not the 'television set' was equipped with a radio above the 'loud speaker'. When on, it would light up a beautiful, detailed display of wave band information that one rarely bothered to refer to. (I can't remember the radio's tuning knob. Probably because as a toddler pest at that time, I wouldn't have been allowed to touch it). And of course, providing it wasn't the precious tube, if ever the television broke down, it was always repaired. The repair man would even come to do the job.

Today one sits a foot away from a 25 inch, high colour resolution, flat-screen computer that is built to last about a year, or will in any case be out of date by that time, and digital televisions, now like home cinemas, are almost as regularly up-dated.

All our values, and what is considered to be 'old', have been completely revolutionised. But this leaves one, especially those who were brought up before the 'revolution', with an uneasy feeling about possible saturation and depletion of natural resources.

Although one is aware of the countless 'recycling programs', there also has to be a limit to the infernal consumer spiral input, down into which vortex spin so many 'obsolete', purchased products prematurely condemned by the power of commercial persuasion, fashion, gimmicks, formidable technological progress, innovations and improvements.

There is also a risk of this phenomenon encroaching on the way one works, for our brains as well as methods in certain domains are not so easily 'up-datable'. It is not always practical, advisable or desirable to 'up-date' the way one is used to working to obtain the results one wishes to obtain. If one is too hasty, such means thus methods could also end up going down the infernal plug-hole.

For similar reasons the local rubbish dump made me also think of fish markets.

I once visited the fish market in New York. So enormous that it seemed interminable. Never had I seen such huge quantities of fish. All different sizes and species. And all treated as though they were banal merchandise like any other.
It occurred to me even then- this is only one day, in one market, in one city, in one country. How can this possibly continue? Will we simply go on ploughing madly through all the species in the sea like so many dodos until we realise too late, that there should have been much greater awareness and attention regarding the natural balance between consummation and natural resources? And this of course applies to everything.

Natural oil and gas resources pertain to another topical, geopolitical question, for there seems to be no real justification for the erratic, disproportional costs. In fact it's likely that the problem regarding an alternative, ecological energy, will be solved and means of transport would be 'up-dated' in function, before natural energy resources have run dry. It's not difficult to imagine how this will make petrol driven vehicles belong to another age, though in some cases they would remain just as beautiful, as are for example, antique, hand driven sewing machines, or all things made with love, care and dedication.

Assuming such a logical conviction is also shared by the lordly administrators in countries blest with important oil and gas resources, or vindictive powers bent on monopolising on natural energy, it is unlikely that it would encourage them to consider that 'the client is always right'. One also doubts that the ever increasing doom's day clouds of pollution will discourage one of the world's oldest civilisations from increasing its production, at the risk of choking on its own success, or excess, for the many avid clients who may be less often right.

A modified Ouroboros endlessly perpetuating his own life and death springs to mind. An 'updated', infernal, dooms-day version. The once moderately balanced, eternal consumer, becoming too greedy, rich and inflated to be able to comfortably reabsorb himself, inducing his own gradual and irrevocable end through chronic indigestion.
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Text and image © Mirino (PW) September, 2008