Commentary: A love letter for Afghanistan and a prayer for peace

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I was born in Kabul, Afghanistan in 1970.

My father, Abdul Ghaffoor Qaissaunee (from Ghurian, Afghanistan), was dean of the College of Engineering at Kabul University, and my mother, Barbara Ferguson Qaissaunee (from Richmond, Virginia), was a library adviser for the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID). They met each other in the USA, while both were in college at the University of Illinois — my father studying abroad due to the potential shown by his stellar academics while at Kabul Institute of Technology, a high school.

When I was born, they had lived in Kabul for nearly 10 years, raising their daughter, Jamila, and their son, Michael. Azim and Samiah, my father’s son and daughter from a previous marriage, lived there with us as well, as did my uncle, Abdul Shakoor.

At the time of my birth, Kabul was a thriving city, busy with traffic and noisy, chaotic and wonderful.

The country on the whole was peaceful, and many nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) were busy with infrastructure and other developmental projects. Women were working in all kinds of professions, and girls were going to school.

During the 1960s, my mother (the daughter of a White Baptist minister) had a wonderful experience living in Kabul. She spoke often of the good times there, living in a richly cultural city with great restaurants, movie theaters and all the amenities you would expect to find in a thriving metropolitan area.

From the 1960s until the late ’80s, the competing Cold War interests of the United States and the Soviet Union were very much at play in Afghanistan, with deadly and devastating consequences for the people there for decades to come. Many of the problems there can be traced back to the competing influences from inside and outside the country’s borders.

My father and mother were on the front lines of Afghanistan’s movement for accessible education for men and women and for the freedoms and equalities that are a bedrock of democracy. Afghanistan’s Constitution, drafted in 1964, established it as a democracy.

In late 1970, my father was offered a visiting-professor position at the University of Cincinnati. He accepted, and we moved there to begin our adventure in the USA. My father was not only a brilliant academic, but a man with deep knowledge of Afghan society and culture and a strong sense of intuition. At the time of our departure to Cincinnati, I have no doubt that he knew that Afghanistan was in for a very challenging future, although I don’t think even he had any idea how tough those challenges would be.

Because I have deep roots in both Afghanistan and the USA, it is important to me that I clear up some of the many misconceptions about the country of Afghanistan and its people. I have come across many people in my life who repeat the common refrain that Afghans have been warring among themselves for thousands of years. This most often is an attempt to express a certain willingness to believe that war is not only Afghanistan’s present but also its past and future and that attempting to bring peace is both futile and worthless.

The truth of the matter is that, despite its many challenges, Afghanistan has seen no more “homegrown” violence and war inside its borders than any number of countries in the world. To know the Afghan people is to know a peace-loving, thoughtful, intelligent, kind and resilient people, and Afghans are some of the most hospitable people you could ever meet. Afghan people treasure family, friends and the joys of lives well lived.

To attempt to understand the current state of Afghanistan is not possible without understanding the complicated forces that have been at play inside and outside the country for more than 50 years. Prior to the 1970s, Afghanistan was far from a perfect place but was a mostly peaceful place and was on the road to becoming a more stable, equitable and sustainable democratic country.

Growing up in the USA as an Afghan-born person had its challenges. I never truly felt that I fit in with most of my friends who were born and raised in the U.S. to American parents. As much as there were challenges, there were gifts. I got to know a whole world of people who spoke differently than I was used to, played different games, danced to different music and cooked different food. Like my Afghan family, I love life, love to tell and be told stories, to laugh and sing and dance. To be alive is to celebrate all the wonderful things in our world.

If you take nothing else from my story — an attempt to dispel false assumptions about Afghanistan and its people and cultivate a better understanding of them — I hope that you have begun to understand that Afghans are some of the most beautiful people in the world. I hope that you would share my story and do your best to meet some Afghans and get to know the truths that I hold in my heart and mind.

One thing is for sure: Now more than ever, Afghans need our compassion, generosity and unwavering support.

Shawn Qaissaunee (pronounced Kay-saw'-nee) is a musician, composer and music educator. Born in Kabul, Afghanistan, he now resides in Wilmington.

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