Yes, Dr. Fetrat was a freedom fighter in the true sense of the word. He proved his commitment to freedom by openly speaking against the complex set of issues that have prevented the Afghan nation from a pathway to peace, independence, and nationhood. Ironically, the Afghanistan for whose survival he was fighting was, before the last two decades of chaos and devastation, a nation with a glorious history of free and relatively progressive existence. The great achievements of this nation were capped by the glorious victory over the Soviet aggressors and over Communism a decade ago. Unfortunately, today this same country as a result of Pakistan's malicious designs is having its worst death struggle, and Dr. Fetrat was desperately struggling to fight against such treacherous designs.

Dr. Fetrat was speaking at a gathering of some three hundred Afghans in Los Angeles where important personalities such as Mr. Sayed Shamsuddin Majrooh, among others, were present. They were exploring ways out of the Afghan quagmire, a condition which has been exacerbated by Pakistani malicious meddling and Arab mercenaries in support of the reactionary movement, the Taliban. The Taliban are an abomination, a curse, and a bad omen not only for Afghanistan but for the entire region and possibly the world, yet because Pakistan needs them for its "strategic depth" designs, it is frantically trying to impose them on the Afghans.

Dr. Fetrat was speaking of the loss that Afghanistan sustained during these tragic times when the country as an ailing mother has been burdened with hunger, disease, and natural catastrophes, a mother whose children have been dying in front of her, but she has been forced to helplessly watch.

Dr. Fetrat was illustrating that the man-made destroyers of culture and civilization in the form of Taliban and Talibanism were bringing havoc upon this poor and victimized nation when suddenly, possibly out of overwhelming grief, he himself collapsed and passed away. Can there be a more dramatic illustration?

May God Almighty rest his soul and grant patience to his wife, Munawara, sons Suleiman and Hamed, daughter Leila, brothers Rafi and Bari, sisters Karima, Maimoona, Nasrin, and Zohra, and many more relatives, friends, colleagues, compatriots that he shocked with his untimely and tragic death. May the eternal mercy of God be upon him.

Inna Lillahe Wa Inna Ilaihe Raje'un. (We are from God and our return is to Him).

Written by: Arvanqi Kirmani
ISPAND, Vol. 4, No. 13 , p.36.
Translated from the Persian by: Qasem Ghazanfar

A Gift for Mother

Happy Mother's Day!

"I'm a refugee from Afghanistan," I said to the Pakistani officials at the border. "No, you're a distinguished journalist and our honoured guest," they said.

They gave me sweet tea as well as the kind words. I'd just said goodbye to my translator and driver, all of us trying not to cry.

The driver, Haji, a white bearded veteran, has crossed frontlines and dodged rockets with seven correspondents. This is the first time he's seen one expelled.

Huge shock

Azam, the translator, has only been in the job two months. He's keen, intelligent, hungry to learn - and now faces an uncertain future.

I've always known I could have to leave at a moment's notice, always tried not to get too attached. But still, the order to leave was a huge shock.

At 9am on Wednesday morning I was in the Taleban Foreign Ministry being given a six-month visa. Two hours later, I returned for a press conference, only for officials to beckon me over and tell me they thought it would be better for me to leave the country for a while.

In true Afghan fashion, the real truth of my position came out slowly, that I had no options, that I was being expelled, that the BBC office was going to be sealed. I joked with the officials. Again Afghans always joke about disaster - it makes it a little easier.

Twenty four hours later, I left the office. No time to say goodbyes, no time to sleep, no time to react, barely enough time to maintain the reporting and pile everything up into the car and race for the border before nightfall.

Twenty four hours later, I left the office. No time to say goodbyes, no time to sleep, no time to react, barely enough time to maintain the reporting and pile everything up into the car and race for the border before nightfall.

Reporting in Afghanistan may be the toughest News job in the world. I don't know, it's my first posting. Certainly, I have agonised over every word I have written.

Upwards of 70% of the population listen to the BBC and you want to get the news right for them. That is an immense responsibility for the correspondent and an ever present source of pressure.

My words are monitored, mulled over and criticised - by both sides in the war, although with living in a Taleban-controlled area the pressure mainly comes from them. And as the only foreign correspondent in the country, I also know that I'm one of the few channels for the voices of Afghans to reach the outside world.

Controversial issues

I've been careful too that my coverage of the Taleban, one of the most despised and condemned governments in the world, is also fair.

But even tougher than the striving after accuracy and balance is the constant fear that my reporting might endanger an Afghan interviewee or source. Thank God, the worst the Taleban could do to me, a foreigner, was expel me. This expulsion has been a huge shock, but not really a surprise.

My job is to report what is going on, even issues which I knew the Taleban would hate me for revealing, namely violent crime in Kabul - despite Taleban claims to have cleaned up the country; the presence of Arab and Pakistani militants in training camps - despite the official denials; and the massacre of civilians by the Taleban in January.

And this time, my experience that it was difficult to find an Afghan who agreed with the Taleban's destruction of the two ancient Buddhas of Bamiyan.

The Taleban have had to put up with near universal condemnation of this action, but my report that even their own people didn't agree with them was too much, it seems. That, along with an Afghan American professor who in a BBC interview called them jaahil.

The term is a huge insult. It means ignorant but the sort of ignorance which Muslims believe the world suffered under before the coming of Islam.

Destruction

Several Afghans have said to me that the destruction of the Buddhas and the closure of the BBC office are similar actions.

Despite drought, bereavement and the ruination of their country, most Afghans seem to have been touched by the destruction of the colossal statues at Bamiyan. It would be like the destruction of somewhere like Stonehenge in Britain.

They are symbols of the nation, for many people symbols of a more tolerant past, when the rulers of Afghanistan accepted different religions and points of view, where cultures mixed along the great trading routes and the Buddha, a man of the east, could be depicted in Greek clothing.

The destruction of the statues has felt like an attempt to wipe out history. And for a country that has seen so much destruction, this deliberate demolition of something ancient and irreplaceable felt obscene.

For Afghans, the BBC is also a deeply honoured, national institution. That sounds strange, but Afghans do seem to feel they own us.

Whatever their politics, ethnic background or level of education, they listen to the BBC. I know that is mainly because there are few other choices in a country without television or newspapers, but still it's always moving.

The small child in an orphanage who confesses the children club together in secret to buy batteries to listen to the BBC soap opera; the shy smile that breaks out on the face of a tough Taleban soldier when he discovers I'm the correspondent.

Afghan generosity

The toughness of this job has always been rewarded by the generosity of Afghans. Even in the short time since my expulsion, people have spoken of the shame they feel that I've been ordered out. "You were our guest," they said.

One friend quoted lines from an Urdu poe

Speak, because your lips are free,
speak because you still have a tongue
See in the blacksmith's shop,
the flame is fierce, the iron is red hot,
the mouth of every lock has started open

Only a few more days are we obliged
to rest in the shadow of oppression

After I crossed the border into Pakistan, I spoke to another old friend. "Cheer up, Kate," he said. "Don't be too upset. You've become a hero of the Afghan people overnight."

It was infinitely reassuring. My commitment to Afghanistan is undimmed. My reporting will continue from Pakistan and I hope to return.---------- more

The Truth vs. Censorship and Discrimination at JHU

It is fitting to note here that among the claims made by a roving Taliban public relations envoy (another word for propagandist) at a speaking event in Washington this week - one of which was hosted by Johns Hopkins' Central Asia-Caucasus Institute - people heard that the Taliban had brought peace and security to Afghanistan - where "only a sinlge burglary took place in Kabul over the past few years" also heard that the Taliban had not committed atrocities and massacres of civilians, and that there are no Pakistani citizens fighting in Afghanistan on the side of the Taliban.

Now we hear from Kate Clark, the BBC's recently expelled reporter from Kabul, who says: "My job is to report what is going on, even issues which I knew the Taleban would hate me for revealing, namely violent crime in Kabul - despite Taleban claims to have cleaned up the country; the presence of Arab and Pakistani militants in training camps - despite the official denials; and the massacre of civilians by the Taleban in January."

There are also many other reporters and investigators, aside from Afghans, who have provided evidence contrary to the Taliban claims and supporting the BBC journalist's report.

It now makes total sense as to why the Central Asia-Caucasus Institute's Frederick Starr would explicitly discriminate against "invited" guests, and prevent journalists, human rights activists and other Afghans and Americans from participating at the Taliban envoy's talk at an academic institution, Wednesday evening in Washington. Mr. Starr, a so-called academic, proved that he is afraid of the truth being voiced out, afraid of a free debate, questions and probes, afraid that his "contributors" may be offended, and he shamelessly trampled on the First Amendment of the US at Johns Hopkins' disgraceful reception for the Taliban envoy Wednesday evening. It is upon Johns Hopkins University's board to look into this serious breach of civil rights, this censorship and discrimination by the CAC Institute's head. ----------- more