They call them women, those human beings whom is forbidden to leave their houses if not accompanied by a male family-member. Those ones obliged to marry thirty, forty years older men. Those ones – over 2.000 every year – attacked and raped when daring to attend a school class.
When I got back from Afghanistan, it appeared. And it’s not leaving me. Everytime somebody asks me “how did it go? How is it down there?”. I don’t even raise my eyes when I tell about it, my head down, anxiety growing, the anxiety of observing my spectator’s compassion towards my sadness, of discovering an unbelieving denial.
They call them refugee camps. -20 degrees during the Winter, +40 degrees in Summer. Thousands of human beings living in mud-nylon-metal sheet conglomerates. Over paid officers of big enterprises or international embassies, high above in their armored cars cannot pretend not to see. Those camps commonly rise right in the middle of the cities. 14 camps only in Kabul. Those humans freezing to death, starving, dying from different diseases, nobody grants them a dammed little bit of drinkable water. Since then years they have left villages and homelands, where a war has started years ago and doesn’t seem to end.
They call them women, they call them girls, those human beings whom is forbidden to leave their houses if not accompanied by a male family-member. Those ones obliged to marry thirty, forty years older men. Those ones – over 2.000 every year – attacked and raped when daring to attend a school class. Those ones screaming for justice! And getting indifference, violence, discrimination.
They call them human beings, those 18 million Afghans living with less than 1 dollar a day (60% of the population, just like in the most poor African Countries). Not having a present, not having a future. Betrayed by those ones, once announcing their liberation, their freedom and protection. Now, without any trace of shame, those ones are acting side by side with their ex-enemies. I call them torturers, I call them criminals.
All this, is called a peace-action, a great success, development!
The little goats, which we deliver as micro-credits to widows and emarginated women, giving them the chance to feed and sustain their children. That is a success!
Those young women, great as monuments, committed in human rights movements for their own countries. Living a hell of a life, hunted everywhere, still walking the head high. That is a peace action!
Those little hospitals, schools, refugees, orphanages, which hardly are endorsed by people really caring for those people totally lacking on human rights, for the unheard. That is development!
The most important question is the most simple one: what happens to our women, to our children, to our poor neighbors?
Call me childish, call me utopian. I simply don’t get to understand those international logics. Call me even malicious, smart, politicized…
It doesn’t want to leave me, that dammed fear.