Human Afterall versus Humanity for All

Working in a male-dominated world (front row, second from left) -

Panjao province, Central Highland, Afghanistan

As I sat in front of my laptop in a room of about 18sqm, staring into a white door with assorted jackets and coats hanging on a clothes rack, nothing came into my mind. I sat there for a few minutes staring into empty space just wondering what the hell am I doing in this place.

The sense of altruism in my heart seems to vanish bit by bit. There is nowhere for me to go and nothing for me to do in this room of about 18sqm. Just the feeling of utter frustration seeping into my soul.

This is the 17th month I have been in Afghanistan. A country where nothing seems to be normal, the way we understand it. A country where you cannot seem to define its inhabitants of about 23 millions. A country where you get in and the next thing you know, you want to get out as quickly as you can but somehow there is still something holding you back. What is it? Is it the sense of obligation as a fellow human being? Or is it because we keep telling ourselves that we can do better?

Things just seem to be getting harder each day. I find myself to be confined in the space of a room; either in my office or in my temporary accommodation. It is easier to engage in any kind of immoral acts within the confine of one’s private space than to go for an innocent stroll out in the open. What an irony, isn’t it? The fact that I could not walk to the nearest grocery store because I want to buy milk frustrates the hell out of me.

The many unheard stories revealed to me as a human rights officer came to haunt me most of the time, leaving me feeling devastated, hopeless and angry.

Zuhal*, a young Afghan woman was married for 8 years. During those 8 years, her husband escaped to Iran in search of a better life while leaving her behind with his family. Eight years have passed and the war against the Taliban is now a dark history. For many, it is a time to rejoice and the time to rebuild a country, which has been destroyed by not just foreign invasion but also by its own people. The bottom line is, it seems to be a hopeful time for a better future.

But not for Zuhal. Being caught by her father-in-law with her neighbour in a room at night, she was sentenced to death by a local religious figure. She was not even alone with her neighbour while she was caught. Her sentence was even supported by her own flesh and blood. She was hung to death while her alleged “partner in crime” survived with 100 lashes of the durra.

I often asked myself while reading this case over and over again, who the hell is this man to have such power over one person’s life? Someone once told me, you are a nobody unless someone makes you a somebody. So, my thought is that this man has such power simply because the people give him the power to pronounce the death sentence. Unless the Afghans start to wake up and think about the values of human being, many people will rise up like this man and continue to wantonly assert their power over innocent people like Zuhal. I am calling her innocent because after all, one of the principles of the rule of law is the presumption of innocent until proven guilty.

In Zuhal’s case, she was never arrested and charged for a crime under normal criminal procedures. She was simply judged guilty even by her own family, who had allegedly carried her outside the house, placed her on a table, tied a noose around her neck and left her to die by hanging. Zuhal’s own mother confessed that she had killed her out of shame and disgrace.

A 12 year-old girl and her alleged rapist were arrested recently and charged for the crime of adultery. The girl claimed that she was drugged and raped by the man. While in detention, her father persistently seeks for her release. Having seen the case of Zuhal, the UNAMA officer handling the case advised not to allow her to be released for fear that she would be killed by her own family due to shame and dishonour. There are not enough qualified lawyers in Afghanistan to defend her. At such a time, I feel completely hopeless and I feel a dark cloud hanging over the women in Afghanistan. I don’t know what else to do for them.

I believe in the freedom of religion. Yes, I do. I believe that everyone has the right to practice his or her own religion. But what I truly abhor with the deepest kind of anger in my heart is how certain people seem to manipulate any forms of religion to the suffering of others. What I truly regret with the deepest kind of disappointment and pity in my heart is how certain people seem to just believe blindly of what they perceived to be the sacred teachings of a religion without searching for the truth.

In essence, I believe that all religion teaches the same values of justice, compassion and peace. I really do. But when 12 innocent civilians’ lives were taken away during a riot as a result of the people’s anger and retaliation towards the American’s alleged desecration of the Qur’an in Guantanamo Bay, I begin to question the purpose and even more the source of such outrage. President Karzai upon finding out the looting and burning down of private and governmental properties, including a public library, condemned the act by stating that while these people were being angry at the desecration of the Qur’an, two hundred more Qur’an were burnt down in the library.

What really is the purpose of believing in a religion when human lives are not valued, for isn’t the basis of all religion boils down to human values? Am I missing something here because I don’t seem to understand?

I mentioned in the beginning that I am living in a temporary accommodation. This is the second time when I find myself being stuck in what I call perjury. Perjury simply because I have nowhere to go. I can’t seem to leave and yet I can’t seem to stay. I was asked to move from my first private accommodation because the rest of my housemates were requested to move to a safer area by their new employer. I could not stay because I could not afford to pay for a house, which was previously shared by seven of us. The rent in Kabul could easily compete with the rent of a modest apartment in New York. For the rent that I was paying, I could easily rent a 2-storey bungalow in Malaysia.

Being a United Nations volunteer, I could either rely on six other volunteers to share the cost of a reasonably comfortable house or I could choose to squeeze with three other volunteers in a room for the rent of USD300 per month. I ended up choosing to pay USD800 per month for a one-bed room flat in an area called Shar-E-Naw in Kabul. The rent of course has a repercussion on my humble volunteer’s allowance but I had chose to forgo my savings in order to have a comfortable place to live; just like my other colleagues who are earning at least thrice as much as I do simply because they are not volunteers but instead valued bona fide UN permanent mission appointees.

The fact that my life is worth USD500 less per month (UN permanent appointees receive USD500 more for their hazard pay per month) simply because I am a volunteer despite the fact that I am still working for the United Nations in the same mission area fills me with bitterness (I am human afterall). Well, why not? I am working under the same stressful environment as they are and why is it that they can afford to pay for a nice place to live while I can’t? A nice house to go home to after having endured a whole day of reading the security advisories on how to identify suicide bombers and bunker practices, the least I deserve is a place where I can be comfortable.

The recent bombing and killing of a UN staff in an internet café and also the kidnapping of the Italian aid worker in Shar-E-Naw have prompted me to pack my bags and start my painful journey in search of a “safer” and yet affordable place to live. During this period, it is when I begin to feel the misery of being a volunteer and the loath towards those who aren’t. It is the time when I experience how I could be exploited by those who are already better off than I am. It is also the time when I respect those sex-workers on the street of Patpong more than a few of these so-called humanitarian workers who earn at least USD72, 000 per annum, but in fact couldn’t care less for the people they are supposed to be serving.

I used to work for the Presidential elections and hence still have a lot of concerns and passion for the electoral operation here. In the midst of all the preparation for the Parliamentary Election in September 2005, I was filled with a sense of fear. I chose not to renew my contract with the Joint Electoral Management Body (JEMB), a body which is part the UN and part the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) of Afghanistan, last year simply because of my intolerance towards the practices of nepotism and corruption within the electoral management in the region I was responsible for. Despite a long and carefully articulated letter to the headquarters backed with facts and cases, my effort to make a change in the system fell on deaf ears. The only response I received was, “You write beautifully!” which of course was an insult to me.

By then, I realized that nothing I did would ever change the system particularly when those who were in the position to make decisions did not seem to care much about the integrity of the process. (I guess when you can’t beat them, my position is not to join them.)

This year, things are different although not without fear. I am finally a human rights officer being assigned to the Political Rights Verification Campaign (PRVC), a joint United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) and the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission project. The project is aimed at verifying whether there is a conducive environment for a free and fair election in Afghanistan.

In a country where intimidations from local commanders, anti-governmental entities, pro-Taliban supporters and corrupted senior governmental officials are regular affairs, it is indeed a very difficult operation but no doubt a much needed one. From working for the election previously to assessing the credibility of the election, I was very much excited. It is my duty to collect information of those who violate the principles of non-intimidation, non-partiality and non-discrimination. Thankfully the people I am working with are true human rights defenders with great principles and true sense of integrity. So, my work is not really something I fear for.

My fear is this. Given the new electoral system and laws, each province is given a specific number of seats depending on the size of the population. According to the constitution and the electoral laws, women are required to fill at least 25% of the total seats, which of course is a huge step for a country like Afghanistan. I doubt that women actually fulfilled more than 10% of the parliamentary seats in already established democratic countries.

Due to the Single Non Transferable Vote (SNTV) electoral system, only independent candidates are allowed to contest in the elections and not political parties. The candidates can belong to a specific political parties but he or she is not allowed to contest under the political party’s name. With the recent completion of the candidate nomination period, the JEMB has registered more than 6,000 candidates. There is yet a candidate vetting process to be done in order to establish the final candidate list.

The only criteria for a candidate to be deemed ineligible is if he or she has been or is convicted of a crime by a competent court. The culture of impunity is well known in Afghanistan due to the weakness of the rule of law institutions. There are still many provincial courts in the country, which are not functioning at all due to the lack of qualified judges and prosecutors. Most judges are trained in the Sharia Law and have no in-dept knowledge of civil and criminal laws or procedures. In addition to that, the judiciary system is reputable for being corrupted. Having said all this, it is not difficult to deduce that the vetting process for electoral candidates will not provide any impact and on the extreme, means nothing at all.

It has been more than a week since the end of the candidate nomination period and a few hundreds candidates have somehow gave up on the contest even before it has begun. There are only two explanations for this. Firstly, some of the candidates must have been intimidated or threatened by stronger candidates backed by dominant political parties. There have been many unverified reports of intimidation and self-censorship all over the regions and although UNAMA lacks credible evidences to back these allegations, nobody who has stayed in Afghanistan long enough will dispute them.

Secondly, due to the specific number of allocated seats, the exercise of “pre-selection” of candidates has taken place in many places. It is not difficult to assume that in certain regions or provinces, the political race will run along the line of ethnic groups. For instance, in order to have “favoured” candidates win the election by default, it is logical to intimidate other candidates into withdrawing their nomination applications.

So, these are my fear. Sometimes I feel that my effort and time are wasted here. Many times I fear for the Afghans who truly want to see their children grow up in a peaceful country without intimidation or discrimination. With the recent bombing and killings of innocent Afghans in a mosque in Kandahar, my fear becomes magnified. If the Afghans do not start to pick themselves up, I doubt anybody else could. Those who truly want to make a change are often being killed or terrorized. How then, could things change? Am I deluded to believe that things will change for the better for these people?

Yes, these are the reasons why I have been asking myself what the hell am I doing here. So, what makes me think twice to stay? As Andrew Beckett, a character played by Tom Hanks in Philadelphia said, “What I love most about the law? I love most about the law is because not often but very occasionally, you are a part of justice being done.”

So, what has kept me here despite being frustrated and disappointed, is that the little faith left in me says perhaps, just perhaps, I might be a part of justice being done in Afghanistan.

*The name has been changed to preserve the identity of the victim.

Written on 9 June 2005

Emails from Bamyan, Afghanistan (Part XV)

Quite suddenly and not to mention unexpectedly, I heard a familiar voice on the radio, “This is Bravo Golf 78. Ms. Ka Ea don’t worry and don’t be scared. I’m coming over to help you. I’m only 10 minutes away from where you are. Don’t worry – I’m coming. Don’t worry. Over”

I thought I was dreaming and I just couldn’t believe it. It was the voice of Ismarai, the tiny-built 21-year old UNAMA driver. Ismarai speaks fluent English and easily one of the best drivers for UNAMA. His small stature does not stop him from being the bravest and craziest driver. He was the driver that had brazed through Shatu pass within 5 hours that morning I left. He could be very arrogant as well because he acknowledges his driving skill and ability. Some of the international staffs hate his guts.

But Ismarai has always been friendly with me and I have a particular fondness for his little 7-year-old brother, Almos (which means diamond in Dari). Almos speaks fluent English and he’s very popular with all the international staffs for his charm and million-dollar smile.

Almos looks Tajik with blond hair and blue eyes. We often joke with Almos that we would hire him as a language assistant. Ismarai invited me once for lunch with his family and that was when I learned he is engaged to a 14-year old cousin of his.

So, that voice on the radio was no stranger to me. I just replied, “My God, BG78, you have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice. We’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere!! I’m not worried anymore now that I know you’re coming and I think I’m going to cry. Over!!”

I had no idea how he knew where we were or that we were stuck. I just didn’t know what was happening anymore and frankly did not care. We waited for about 30 minutes before we saw 2 white UN Land Cruisers stopped about 200m in front of us. Ismarai just jumped out from the car and started charging down the hill like an agile goat with a spade in his hand towards our pickups.

Another of our dear old driver, Rasudad, also came bouncing to our rescue. I went running towards them and Rasudad immediately asked me to sit in his car and put a blanket over me while he went to help Ismarai with the pick-up. My 20-hour ordeal ended as soon as I saw our drivers. I knew I was finally safe.

To add icing on the cake, I received radio communication from Raffaele. He said he was sending a rescue team of 2 cars from Panjao and I should expect them to be there soon. He asked me how my night went and was I cold, etc. He had sent 4 blankets with the rescue team.

I just told him, “BG41 (Raffaele), is the rescue team consist of BG78 (Ismarai) and BG75 (Rasudad)? If yes, let me tell you that they are here already. We’re now waiting for them to get the car out and we’ll be proceeding to Panjao after that. Over”

He replied, “BG47 (me), Don’t wait. Get into one of the cars and ask BG75 to send you to Panjao right away. Let the rest of the team fix the other car and they can come after. But come over to Panjao immediately. Over.” I replied, “Roger that. I’ll be moving over right now. BG47 out.”

So, I took off with Rasudad and headed for Panjao. It took us another hour before I finally arrived in Panjao Provincial Office with the familiar UN flag waving in the wind, beckoning me home. That was the second time that I have felt happy and relieved seeing that blue and white flag. The first was when I crossed the Mecedonian border to Kosova on foot at around 12 midnight 2 years ago.

I had been awake for more than 30 hours without food, drink and a shower. My eyes were bloodshot and my boots were completely covered with mud which was hardening already due to the sun. As I walked out from the car, Raffaele came out from the office. We just looked at each other and he grinned, “Welcome to Panjao”. Under normal circumstances, we would have hugged each other but in Afghanistan, such show of affection or comfort in public is frowned upon.

He started asking me what happened, etc. and all I could say was it was my fault that all this had happened and I realized that I had jeopardize my job and I would be fired, etc. I thought, gee, what a way to start my job in Panjao. But I think under such circumstance, no compassionate or sympathetic person would start having a go at someone who had spent a whole night on the Shatu pass. I guess I had been punished for my own mistake already.

I subsequently found out from Danny that at around 10:30pm that night, Bamyan had to make a decision of informing Kabul Chief of Security that I hadn’t call them and the possibility of security threat. Kabul was notified and they decided that if by morning, they still had not heard from me, they would have to send an air rescue team to look for us. But at this stage, I am still trying to figure out what was Kabul doing between 5am to 9am when we had not establish contact with Panjao base. I was not going to pursue the matter since nothing was brought against me until now.

So that was my journey from Bamyan to Panjao. I’m sure some of you may doubt the validity of the whole story because it sounds like a dramatic action movie. But let me tell you that it all did happen.

.....to be continued in Part XVI....

Emails from Bamyan, Afghanistan (Part XVII)

It was late, cold and again we had no dinner. I didn’t know where to sleep. The guys could just check into the local hotel/guesthouse but as a woman, I am not allowed to sleep in the hotel.

A hotel in Central Highlands means a big hall with 30 or more men sleeping on the same floor. Contagious diseases have been known to spread amongst the lodgers due to unhygienic and unsanitary condition at the guesthouse particularly when you have so many people who have travelled from far distances without so much as a shower sleeping closely together.

Bugs on the carpet are known to feast on the lodgers’ blood which then causes skin diseases. Shawn, the UNOPS Logistics Officer, had experienced chronic skin rashes for one week after sleeping on the floor at one of the local guesthouses. Apparently bugs had laid eggs under his epidermis and the eggs had possibly hatched through his skin follicles, creating extreme itchiness and inflammation on his skin. Ouch! Sounds painful.

I thought my last resort was to ask IAM whether I could stay with them. Raffaele had told me that my last option should be IAM because the last time he went to Lal, they were unfriendly and did not take in guests. At this stage, I hardly had any other choices and the thought of sleeping in the car, shivering all night, hungry and holding my bladder was just too insufferable.

So, we went to IAM and knocked on their door. Aliase said something in Dari. The voice that answered was a female’s voice and she spoke Dari. She then spoke in English, “Go away! I don’t know who you are and what you want. Just leave us alone!” As soon as I realized that it was a foreign woman’s voice, I started introducing myself.

She then opened the door just wide enough to take a peek at me. The lady before me looked African Caribbean, wore glasses and had a veil covering her head. I told her that I had nowhere to stay that night and I needed a place to sleep. What came out from my mouth was completely new. I had never in my entire life asked a stranger to give me shelter for the night. It was almost like begging and I had no choice. To be honest, it hurt my pride a little bit but it is all part of surviving in this God forsaken place. If you don’t learn to swallow your pride, you’ll just end up alone and miserable.

The lady asked grudgingly, “Is it just you or the rest of the guys as well ‘cause we don’t take in men.” She didn’t sound friendly at all. I told her that it was just me and the men were staying at the hotel at the bazaar.

She immediately responded, “Well, we don’t take in people and this is not a guesthouse but I suppose you can stay for tonight.” I was relieved and then made a last call to Raffaele informing him of my situation. I had not called him since the Oxfam incident and had taken off by myself without letting him know what the conclusion with Oxfam was. When he answered the phone, I was so close to screaming down the phone at him and cursing him for sending me off somewhere without a place to sleep. But instead, my voice was shaky and very much close to tears.

I was angry alright but it was also because of the exhaustion, cold and also the humiliation of being rejected by Oxfam and having to beg for a place to sleep. I could have cried on the phone but I managed to tell myself that I had to be strong for my own pride. I don’t want Raffaele having any excuse to tell anyone, “See, a woman! We can never send a woman off on a mission. All they do is cry.” I also did not want Raffaele to feel bad or guilty about sending me off on my own. I’m a team member and I want him to know that he can count on me to do as good a job as any other men. Here, as a woman, you need to constantly prove yourself lest you succumb to their stereotype.

So instead, I told him as calmly as I could that I was staying over at IAM and everything was fine. Good night! He said he was going to call Bamyan to report on Oxfam’s hostility. Apparently, most of the NGOs have agreed to assist and support UNAMA Electoral team in the field and what Oxfam did was against the agreement. But heck it, I am never going back there again.

What was meant to be only one night in IAM turned out to be 7 nights! I got to know the residents there; Martha, Erin and Rita. The lady who answered the door the other night was Erin, an American girl from Michigan. Erin and Rita are doctors. Rita is from Norway and Martha is a nurse from Germany. They are devout Christians funded by Scandinavian countries to provide medical care for the people of Afghanistan.

In fact, those 7 nights were very chastised nights. These women could very well be missionaries or nuns. They say grace before every meal, sing praises and have Sunday service in the house. Everything is organized and works on clockwise. Breakfast at 7:15am every morning, lunch at 12pm and dinner at 6pm. Bedtime is at 8pm. The doctors are on call 24 hours and often have to rush to the nearby clinic to deliver newborn babies. Oh not forgetting, shower on every Thursday evening only. Yep, shower only once a week. I do not know whether this policy has anything to do with the scarcity of water or the burden of heating up the bukhari for hot water or the cold weather because neither is Lal a desert, nor is it that cold at that time of the year. I had seen many rivers and it is getting warmer now.

When I related the stories of my adventure in Lal to the Panjao team, it has now become a standing joke about the nuns taking shower every Thursday only.

Martha must be at least 70 years old. She has been in Afghanistan since 1960s under the order of King Zahir Shah. She speaks fluent Pashto and Dari. She cooks all the time and was like a grandmother to me. In fact, they all treated me well after getting to know more about what I do, etc.

I was well-fed in Lal because they always have proper meals unlike when I am in Panjao. Meals in Panjao consist of pasta, potatoes, beans, rice and bread…and may I add… every day. No fruits at all. There is absolutely nothing else in Panjao for us to eat. But with IAM, I got the occasional kebabs, fish (from cans), local homemade yogurt (“moss” in Dari), salads and even cheesecakes baked by Martha. She would churn her own cheese from the fresh and homemade yogurt. The yogurt in Afghanistan is absolutely fantastic and possibly one of the best dairy products I have tasted. It makes a great dessert with a little bit of honey and cinnamon sugar.

We had a lot of conversation during dinner and I must say that I enjoyed the company and by the end of my stay, I was sad to go.

Emails from Bamyan, Afghanistan (Part finale) - finally!

Raffaele and I talked on the phone every day because of reporting and sometimes I sounded low on the phone and he would try to calm me down. He would then always tell me how many more days before I would return to Panjao. It did get very frustrating sometimes especially when my Thuraya ran out of credit and I was not able to call anyone. I had to wait for Raffaele to call me every evening.

So, most of the days, I would not have anyone to talk to because most of the Afghan staffs do not speak English. Aliase and I were getting on each other’s nerves and I was trying very hard to sustain the working relationship. I could see that Aliase was getting very agitated and unmotivated with the whole thing; being dumped in Lal on our own without office space, etc. I tried to keep ourselves positive and busy. Whenever Raffaele called, I tried to sound cheerful and uplifted just so that he wouldn’t have to worry about us in Lal.

But one evening, I just broke down and it was the day when I gave up on the recruitment process. Then immediately I felt guilty for doing that and reassured him that I would be different the next day and I was just feeling very vulnerable that day. I think for those days that I was in Lal, I began to realize how strong and independent I could be and how one can actually condition oneself to adapt to the situation and condition. I also began to discover how important it was to have someone like Raffaele to comfort and counsel me every single day and reassuring me that I was not alone on this.

Anyway, 2 days before I was supposed to return to Lal, Raffaele sent his Language Assistant, Jaffar, to Lal to confirm the registration sites with the District Governor. I was really happy to see Jaffar. Jaffar is 23 years old and was a refugee in Pakistan for a long time. He speaks very good English and is more liberal than most Afghans.

He and Raffaele work very well together and I think among all the PFCs and their Language Assistants, Raffaele and Jaffar have the best of relationship between them. That is also because Jaffar has loyalty and respect towards Raffaele. He sees Raffaele as his role model rather than his superior. Jaffar is also very competent and works more than a Language Assistant. His computing skill is excellent and he could create maps on software, etc. So, Raffaele depends a lot on him to carry out a lot of the technical work. Hence, it is no surprise for Jaffar to be sent on his own to speak with the District Governor, etc.

The moment I saw Jaffar, I said, “Get me out of here!” I needed to get out from Lal center, just to breathe. I was by then building a rapport with Khial Gol, the new driver who had been fetching me every morning from IAM to the field. Khial Gol surprisingly possesses a wide English vocabulary although he can’t really form English sentences. Every time he drives me to the field, he would point at things like river and then said it in Dari. He was turning into my Dari teacher and then I found out that he used to be a teacher.

For those 5 days that I had been isolated from my friends, I compensated by talking to Jaffar non-stop. I poured out my woes and my frustrations. Then Raffaele called to check whether Jaffar had arrived in Lal. He asked Jaffar on the phone how I was, etc. and Jaffar told him that I was bored and stressed. Then I discovered that Raffaele had given Jaffar a bottle of vodka to be shared with me!

Having Jaffar made a whole lot of difference. I was slowly adapting myself to Lal and by the last night, I remember talking on the phone with Raffaele as to whether he wanted me to go back to Panjao or stay on in Lal to monitor the training. Qurghani and I were supposed to return to Panjao the next day according to our schedule. While Aliase and the rest of the trainers were supposed to stay on in Lal to start training on the new staffs.

Raffaele asked me whether I wanted to stay on in Lal and I told him that I would prefer to go back to Panjao but if I had to stay in Lal, I would. He told me he had a feeling that I was beginning to enjoy Lal and didn’t want to come back to Panjao. I was like, “Are you kidding me? Stay on here with no one to talk to and go to bed at 8pm every night?”

I was dying to go back to Panjao especially when I knew we would be expecting some company; Collin and Shawn were to stop by in Panjao for one night before going to Uruzghan. It would be like a small former Bamyan team get-together and I wasn’t going to miss out. But I know that if I had to stay in Lal, I would for the interest of the team and then held it against Raffaele later! But thank God, Raffaele asked me to come back.

So, I was very excited to leave Lal the next morning with Khial Gol and Farid. The journey for the first time went as smooth as a banana. I arrived in Panjao just on time for lunch and of course talked myself silly. Those 7 days felt like forever and I was of course warmly greeted by Panjao team and felt a sense of accomplishment; being the first and only UN international electoral female staff in Central Highlands brazing a new district in another Province on her own and survived it!

When Collin came, he called me the toughest chick on the block and accused Raffaele of being crazy and irresponsible for sending me off alone. But I was happy and proud of that. It has been a man’s world here. For months now, I have been the only foreign woman working in the Central Highlands electoral team. If the PFCs can survive it, I can too. And for the first time, the PFCs could not accuse me of not knowing how it is like to be in the Province.

Life oh life….. you just never know what is going to happen next. As for me, I know I am just about done with Afghanistan. I think I would be leaving here after July.

I left Panjao in August and returned to Afghanistan two months later as a Human Rights Officer for UNAMA, based in Kabul. I stayed on for another 13 months before finally leaving Afghanistan for good.

This final part of my email series came at a good time because just today, I received news from Raffaele that he has just became a proud  father to baby girl, Zaira. I extend my sincere happiness for him as he embarks in this new chapter of his life.

A different kind of spirit and intoxication

These days, the right words used to describe me would be, zombie-fied and kelam-kabut.

In the last month, I have been completely engrossed in a project which has inevitably driven me to physical and mental exhaustion. Being sleep deprived, I have unwillingly arrived at work late in a dishevelled state. I’m almost always late for meetings held in-house and above all, I’ve committed one of the biggest and most embarrassing professional crime - giving the wrong name to a very important government minister while drafting a press statement!

I should be fired, but deep down I hope I won’t for two reasons. I’m psyched about what I’m doing and I’m driven by the pool of people working around this project.

A good marriage is really hard to come by these days but this article is not about marriage. It’s about team work and it’s as equally rare. Mom used to tell me this, “If you marry the right man, half of your life’s happiness is secured.”

In the context of a job, I would say that if you get to work with the right team, at least half of your day’s happiness is guaranteed. When combined together, I guess I’m a really happy woman despite the sleep deprivation and long hours of slogging.

Not too long ago, a fellow writer informed me that she doesn’t believe in Committee. She told me that it’s easier to get things done by herself. I do agree with her because there have been many occasions where I end up doing a job on my own simply because it takes too long to wait for others to act, especially if they are unreliable. Also, when there’s more than one person, it usually involves having more than one opinion and this means more time needed to take a collective decision.

In a marriage, it takes two to tango. In a team, it takes a whole troop to perform that awe-inspiring Shaolin acrobatic formation. All members need to lean on each other for support, be willing to take a fall and last but not least to sweat it out together so that their goals can be achieved.

However, these are not just the essential ingredients. It takes much more to become an exceptionally good team.

The spirit of team work was first introduced to me when I worked in Afghanistan. My wise Italian friend taught me the first lesson of being in a team: loyalty. Loyalty in his case does not mean to submit to one’s leader blindly and unequivocally. A team needs to be challenged. Otherwise, how would you know that it’s truly a good one when everything works like a bed of roses?

Loyalty here means to sort out disputes fairly and transparently, without backstabbing one another. If things get really difficult, you don’t just jump ship. You stay and work things out together.

I remember when I had just become the newest member of an electoral team in Bamyan, I did not appreciate our Coordinator. We had different working cultures which made it difficult for me to adapt.

Whenever I expressed my dissatisfaction towards the Coordinator, my Italian friend would remain impartial, refusing to partake in any of my personal observations. Instead, he would provide objective views and advised me to communicate my frustration to the Coordinator.

I find this to be a constructive and effective method of solving professional disagreement. If anything, it improves and builds working relationship because of better understanding through open communication.

Secondly, to be a truly good team, it goes beyond showing professional commitment. Since, we’re essentially human beings, we all come with emotional baggage. We all have needs to feel included, appreciated and respected. We don’t just value ourselves as a worker, but also a human being, deserving of respectful and dignified treatment.

Bamyan is one of the coldest districts in Afghanistan. During winter, the temperature often drops to minus 30 degrees celcius. Again, being new, I was unable to adapt to such harsh condition and subsequently fell ill with mild pneumonia. My colleagues quickly took to the task of nursing me back to health.

During this time, my health condition had been brought to the attention of those working in the headquarters. In order not to further jeopardise my health, decisions were quickly made to offer me a transfer to a warmer district in the East of Afghanistan. Resisting the tempting offer, I decided to stay on in Bamyan and it was the right decision I made.

I would eventually brave winter together with a group of colleagues whom by then had become friends. We would huddle together, all wrapped up in thick fleece jackets, scarves and mittens, sharing a simple meal while being fuelled by a solitary burner situated in the middle of a poorly equipped kitchen. Everything else was frozen in the kitchen but our spirits were kept sizzling hot by the solidarity we had for each other.

Last but not least, when the going gets really tough, good team members support each other despite the adversities and risks they have to take, even if it means compromising themselves.

After about six months in Bamyan, we had a shocking but pleasant surprise. A Japanese colleague of ours brought her baby boy from Japan to Bamyan. The whole adventure of how she managed to bring her baby there was a different story altogether. Suffice to say that her act was in breach of the United Nations’ employment contract. As an unaccompanied duty station, all staff were not allowed to bring their partners or children to Afghanistan, unless they were being employed by the UN or other organisations, in the case of their partners.

Being a single mother and combined with other undisclosed reasons, she had to bring her child there. We knew that it was not the best decision made, bringing a child to a war-zone country. However, we understood that whatever reason that had prompted her to do so must had been difficult and perhaps necessary.

In the end, what we did was to support her. We welcomed her baby into our humble home and treated him as if he was a part of the family. We were fully aware that if the baby was discovered by the UN authorities, we would all risk disciplinary action and our Japanese colleague, her job.

It hit upon us that it was difficult trying to conceal a baby in a small district like Bamyan. Eventually, our colleague had to pack her bag and leave the country but the memory of that moment we shared together will continue to stay with all of us for the rest of our lives.

Perhaps I would never get to experience such surreal circumstances again but I am fortunate enough to relive the joy of working in a team where all of us grow together and feed on each other’s enthusiasm, strength and encouragement to cross that finishing line.

The writer would like to dedicate this article to those working on the MyConstitution Campaign, as well as those who have been supportive and understanding of her during her moments of zombification and kelam-kabutness.

This article was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 15 November 2009 under the same title.

The fight for justice

I used to work for the Presidential elections in Afghanistan and hence still have a lot of concerns and passion for the electoral operation there. In the midst of all the preparation for the Parliamentary Election in September 2005, I was filled with a sense of fear.

I chose not to renew my contract with the Joint Electoral Management Body (JEMB), a body which is part the UN and part the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) of Afghanistan, last year simply because of my intolerance towards the practices of nepotism and corruption within the electoral management in the region I was responsible for.

Despite a long and carefully articulated letter to the headquarters backed with facts and cases, my effort to make a change in the system fell on deaf ears.

The only response I received was, “You write beautifully!” which of course was an insult to me.

By then, I realised that nothing I did would ever change the system particularly when those who were in the position to make decisions did not seem to care much about the integrity of the process. I guess when you can’t beat them...my own position is not to join them.

This year, things are different although not without fear. I am finally a human rights officer being assigned to the Political Rights Verification Campaign (PRVC), a joint United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) and the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission project. The project is aimed at verifying whether there is a conducive environment for a free and fair election in Afghanistan.

In a country where intimidations from local commanders, anti-governmental entities, pro-Taliban supporters and corrupted senior governmental officials are just part of an Afghan’s daily affairs, it is indeed a very difficult operation but no doubt a much needed one.

From working for the election previously to assessing the credibility of the election, I was very excited.

It is my duty to collect information of those who violate the principles of non-intimidation, non-partiality and non-discrimination.

Thankfully the people I am working with are true human rights defenders with great principles and true sense of integrity. So, my work is not really something I fear for.

My fear is this. Given the new electoral system and laws, each province is given a specific number of seats depending on the size of the population.

According to the constitution and the electoral laws, women are required to fill at least 25 per cent of the total seats, which of course is a huge step for a country like Afghanistan. I doubt that women actually fill up more than 10 per cent of the parliamentary seats in all established democratic countries.

Due to the Single Non Transferable Vote (SNTV) electoral system, only independent candidates are allowed to contest in the elections and not political parties.

The candidates can belong to a specific political parties but he or she is not allowed to contest under the political party’s name.

With the recent completion of the candidate nomination period, the Joint Electoral Management Body (JEMB) has registered more than 6,000 candidates. There is yet a vetting process to be carried out in order to produce the final candidate roll.

The only criterion for a candidate to be deemed ineligible is if he or she has been or is convicted of a crime by a competent court. The culture of impunity is well known in Afghanistan due to the weakness of the rule of law institutions.

There are still many provincial courts in the country, which are not functioning at all due to the lack of qualified judges and prosecutors. Most judges are trained in the Sharia Law and have no in-dept knowledge of civil and criminal laws or procedures. In addition to that, the judiciary system is reputable for being corrupted.

Having said all this, it is not difficult to deduce that the vetting process for electoral candidates will not provide any impact and on the extreme, means nothing at all.

It has been more than a week since the end of the candidate nomination period and a few hundreds candidates have somehow gave up on the contest even before it has begun. There are only two explanations for this.

Firstly, some of the candidates must have been intimidated or threatened by stronger candidates backed by dominant political parties.

There have been many unverified reports of intimidation and self-censorship all over the regions and although the UN has no credible evidences to back these allegations up, nobody who has stayed in Afghanistan long enough will dispute them.

Secondly, due to the specific number of allocated seats, the exercise of “pre-selection” of candidates has taken place in many places. It is not difficult to assume that in certain regions or provinces, the political race will run along the line of ethnic groups.

For instance, in order to have “favoured” candidates win the election by default, it is logical to intimidate other candidates into withdrawing their nominations.

So, these are my fear. Sometimes I feel that my effort and time are wasted here. Many times I fear for the Afghans who truly want to see their children grow up in a peaceful country without intimidation or discrimination.

With the recent bombing and killings of innocent Afghans in a mosque in Kandahar, my fear becomes magnified. If the Afghans do not start to pick themselves up, I doubt anybody else could. Those who truly want to make a change are often being killed or terrorised.

How then, could things change? Am I deluded to believe that things will change for the better for these people?

Yes, these are the reasons why I have been asking myself what the hell am I doing here. And what makes me think twice to stay? As Andrew Beckett, a character played by Tom Hanks in Philadelphia said, “What I love most about the law? I love most about the law is because not often but very occasionally, you are a part of justice being done.”

So, what has kept me here despite being frustrated and disappointed, is that the little faith left in me says perhaps, just perhaps, I might be a part of justice being done in Afghanistan.

I finally left Afghanistan after living there for 2 years. Although I managed to survive a death threat, I eventually succumbed to eczema. Unfortunately, I felt that I have left without leaving much impact.

This was first published in The Malaysian Insider on 27 March 2010.

Why we should vote

This was first published on The Malaysian Insider on 28 November 2010.

Democracy is a powerful notion.

It allows; an octogenarian black woman, a single-mother working on double shifts, a 40 year-old unemployed college drop-out, a life-saving surgeon, a homeless war veteran with one arm, a 19 year-old exchange student in Europe, a young beautiful stripper, Joe the gay plumber and Mary the unhappy housewife; to choose who they want to run their country.

It is perhaps the only rare time when every single person, who has not relinquished his or her civil and political rights, will ever be treated equally. Think about it: is there any other time when everyone’s voices are valued and measured in the same manner regardless of their socio-economic background? And because of this power and the sanctity of it, the State will try its best to provide each and everyone the means to exercise this inalienable right to vote.

Photo above: Robin Carnahan, a Democrat candidate for the Missouri State House of Representatives lost in the recent Mid-Term election.

Democracy can be a dangerous notion.

In order to wipe out competition; political opponents, women candidates and pro-democratic mullahs are intimidated or killed. Women who decide to shed their proverbial and literal burqas in order to have their photographs laminated on their voter registration cards are being threatened to death or killed.

For the lucky ones who manage to emerge unscathed, they will walk miles and miles to the polling stations in the harsh winter climate wearing only inferior Croc-style shoes on their freezing feet and determination on their faces already showing signs of pre-mature aging.

I was fortunate enough to witness how democracy was carried out in the United States of America (USA) and Afghanistan. Although their spirits are as different as night and day, the essence of the notion remains the same. Hence, for the precise reason that democracy is such a powerful notion that many Afghans are being persecuted for embracing it. To me, this is the first reason why we should vote.

I love elections. There is nothing more exciting and inspiring than watching regular citizens from any given layer of society share one common belief that each of them has the opportunity to be a part of that intricate fabric that will one day adorn their government.

When I am at a polling station, I am amazed and comforted by the thought that no matter how insignificant one is in the scheme of things, his or her vote will be counted. No matter what the election outcome is, that person’s existence that day has mattered greatly. Sadly, it is too rare to witness such a sense of importance and purpose in regular people throughout our daily lives, but when such opportunity presents itself, it is truly an honour.

When my alarm clock went off at 4:30am on 2 November 2010, I jumped off my bed and was ready in advance of my 5:30am pick-up. John Chasnoff, the Programme Manager for the American Civil Liberties Union for Eastern-Missouri (ACLU, E-M) (insert hyperlink: http://www.aclu-em.org/), pulled up at the entrance of my hotel on South-Jefferson Avenue, St. Louis City, a few minutes after 5:30am.

Photo above: Volunteers at the legal command centre of St. Louis. It was still dark outside. Polling stations open at 6am in the United States on Election Day.

Photo above: Finally things got a bit more exciting as the day progressed. Volunteers gathered together to discuss a complaint.

It was still dark and the roads were completely deserted when we arrived at a Reformed Judaism temple serving as the legal command centre for St. Louis’s Voter Protection Programme (insert hyperlink: http://www.advancementproject.org/our-work/voter-protection) that day. The programme was run by Advancement Project with the help of a coalition of non-governmental organisations such as ACLU, National Disability Rights Network, etc.

We were greeted by Denise Lieberman, a civil rights lawyer, who had just arrived at the center with her arms full. I quickly established that she was the team leader as she wasted no time in turning on the lights and coffee machine, setting up the centre, getting someone to pick up assortments of bagels and cream cheeses and organising the volunteers who were beginning to trickle in to the centre.

Most volunteers were lawyers on standby to address complaints of electoral irregularities. The day started off slowly and I was beginning to feel convinced that voters in America do not need protection after all and the existence of such programme was merely a frivolity and not necessity.

Throughout my trip in the USA, I asked some Americans whether electoral fraud is a concern in the country. Most of them smiled politely as if it was the most ridiculous question they had ever heard. According to many, it would be extremely difficult but not impossible, to find someone trying to vote twice since the real challenge is actually to get more Americans to vote. Apparently, the USA is notoriously known for low voter turnout, except for the last Presidential election when throngs of young voters turned up to vote.

What intrigued me the most was the absence of photo ID as a requirement to vote. When I pressed on about how such a system could potentially become a target for abuse and fraud, most of them just shrugged and said, “You just need to trust.” It was my turn to smile politely.

While refilling my third cup of coffee that morning, I stroke up a conversation with another volunteer. According to him, many Americans do not have any form of photo identification since not all Americans possess a passport or driver’s license; the two most common documents with photos attached. As such, it makes it virtually impossible for the electoral law to include photo ID as a requirement to vote. He believes that one of the main reasons why some Americans make this into such a big issue is to prevent certain voters from voting for the opposition.

Sure enough, one of the complaints which subsequently came in that morning was of a polling officer who insisted that a voter must present a photo ID in order to vote. Later on, John and I were sent to a polling station to investigate a complaint against a Republican challenger who was allegedly telling polling officers that the voting machines were faulty and in order for a republican vote to be registered in the system, voters must press the button for the Republican candidate repetitively. Another complaint received was from a blind voter who was concerned that the polling officer might not have read out the whole list of candidates and propositions on the ballot paper.

Once we determined that the day was not going to get more exciting, John was ready to cast his vote at the polling station where he registered. As long as I am not John’s employer or labour union representative, I was allowed to accompany and assist him at the voting booth, in which I did. Since USA is pretty much a country that seems to rely heavily on trust, nobody bothered to question whether John genuinely needed my assistance in the first place. I also noticed that there was no police presence in most of the polling stations we went. The only time when we actually saw them was when they came to collect the ballot boxes.

 

Photo above: John Chasnoff distributing electoral materials at one of the polling stations. We had to make sure that we were at least 25 feet away from the entrance of the polling station. A voter arrived at the polling station with his granddaughter.

When I talked to John about my experience in Afghanistan as a Civic Education Officer and Political Rights Verification Officer, I was reminded of how different the atmosphere was on election day in Afghanistan. At the end of the day, we would have witnessed or received countless of reports on the number of fraud, intimidation and violence committed all over the country.

I think there are many reasons why some people do not vote. It could be because they have lost faith in the whole democratic process. It could also be because they do not know who to vote for or care enough for what the candidates stand for. It could be because they are not physically or mentally fit to vote. But there are also many who do not vote simply because they think their votes do not matter and election period is just another day for politicians to hurl malicious accusations at each other in public. For these people, here’s news for you.

Democracy is not free but often comes with a huge price. It is not handed down to us on a silver platter but one that is often filled with blood and difficult compromises. For many of us who live in relatively peaceful and politically stable countries, we have become myopic of how our fore parents had fought hard for it many years ago. It would appear that the more democratic a country is, the less interested her people are in her political affairs. For isn’t this the ugly side of human nature that it is when something is taken away from you that you will only come to value it the most?

So vote while you still have the right to do so.