An Afghan woman says: I want to be President!
“I would willingly sacrifice my life if it means a peaceful Afghanistan and a better future for the children of this country.”:
- Fauzia Koofi
Fauzia Koofi
In one of the most touching scenes in the film At Five in the Afternoon by Samira Makhmalbaf: young school girls are asked what they want to become, and one of them answers: “President”. She would not make it. Her life would be a rather cruel story of a typical Afghan woman. But now, here comes a woman who wants to make that female dream come true: Fauzia Koofi, 36, a single mother of two daughters, and a member and Vice President of the Parliament in Kabul since 2005. Elections won’t take place before 2014, but it is wise for this daughter of a politician and an illiterate woman, to announce for everyone in Afghanistan and abroad to know: “I am running for Presidency in the coming elections”. Being known protects her.
Herself, “just” a daughter and the 19th of the 23 of her father’s children, her mother at first abandoned her. Being one of seven wives to her father, she left her in the desert to die, because giving birth to a girl doesn’t mean happiness, it means shame instead. Yet Fauzia survived - her mother got a bad conscience.
Fauzia and her family would experience all that Afghanistan had endured in recent decades: The traditional village community life, occupation by the Soviet Army - who at least cared for the education of women and girls and abolished the burka, but also the Mujahedeen, who chased out the Russian soldiers, the Taliban, who banished women back to their homes and shrouded the country in horror, and finally the shaky democracy that exists today. Fauzia’s father got killed by political enemies and her husband was tortured to death. But she does not want to be afraid. Each time she traveled, she would write a letter to her daughters, a kind of legacy to them. The following extract gives an insight into the reality of a female Afghan politician, her dreams and hopes.
Dear Shuhra and Shahrazad,
Today I am going on political business to Faizabad and Darwaz. I hope I will come back soon and see you again, but I have to tell you, that I may not.
There have been threats to kill me on this trip. Maybe this time these people will be successful.
As your mother it causes me such bitter pain to tell you this. But please understand I would willingly sacrifice my life if it means a peaceful Afghanistan and a better future for the children of this country.
I live this life, so that you - my precious girls – will be free to live your lives and to dream all of your dreams.
If I am killed and I don’t see you again, I want you to remember these things.
First, don’t forget me.
Because you are young and have to finish your studies, you cannot live independently, I want you to stay with your aunt Khadija. She loves you so much and she will take care of you for me.
You have my authority to spend all the money I have in the bank. But use it wisely and use it for your studies. Focus on your education. A girl needs an education if she is to excel in this man’s world.
After you graduate from school, I want you to continue your studies abroad. I want you to be familiar with universal values. The world is a big, beautiful, wonderful place and it is yours to explore.
Be brave. Don’t be afraid of anything in life.
All of us human beings will die one day. Maybe today is the day I will die. But if I do, please know it was for a purpose.
Don’t die without achieving something. Take pride in trying to help people and in trying to make our country and our world a better place.
I kiss you both. I love you.
Your mother
*The text is an extract from Letters To My Daughters, - A Memoir by Fauzia Koofi, 2011.
After the 2005 Elections
I was determined not to settle with being a token woman, so I raised my voice from the first day onwards, by which I earned myself the reputation of an open and capable parliamentarian. But many men were against female MPs and tried to intimidate us. If we spoke they shouted us down or left the hall. Those male MPs who supported us were denigrated. In a debate a male colleague was once called a “feminist” – which is a grave insult in Afghanistan.
The Afghan Parliament is noisy and the place is often on the verge of violence. I realized that I won’t get anywhere, if I complained in such situations or if I shouted back. So I am trying to create an atmosphere of mutual respect instead. I also made a vow never to lose my values and principles out of sight. If you abide by the majority opinion, it means you have lost yourself and that you have given up on your beliefs.
My most important goals will never change: arguing for human rights and gender equity, poverty alleviation and educational development. Unfortunately the pressure is too great for many of us female MPs. Some I have never heard utter a word in Parliament to this day and that makes me very sad. Others again are too brusque. One young MP, Malalai Joya, was banished from Parliament for three years, having insulted some colleagues – comparing them with animals in a TV interview that was broadcast nationwide.
On the day following the election, the debate started for the leading positions: the President of the Parliament, his deputy and the ministerial posts. I explained to Sabrina Sakib, the youngest MP that I was planning to run for the post of Deputy President of Parliament. Sabrina agreed that my candidacy would be good for women in general, but at the same time she also warned that I won’t be elected and that many men would give me a hard time.
“My brother warned me from this candidacy. He said it would harm our family’s repute.”
When I spoke to my family after that, they also warned me to be careful. My brother Nadir was totally against it. “Fauzia jan” he said, “it is more than can be expected to have become an MP at all - as a woman. You should not have further ambitions. If you run for the presidency of the Lower House you will lose, and that would harm the political repute of our family”. Finally I spoke with my daughters Shuhra and Shahrazad, six and seven years old. Their reaction encouraged me. Shuhra had a great idea for the campaign: “I’ll give little flags to a hundred children at my school”, she said, “and then we’ll come to the Parliament and tell the MPs to vote on you”. I thanked her with a big kiss.
Shahrazad, a gentle and reflective little girl who reminds me very much of her father took my hand and looked at me seriously as she said: “Mother, one woman should attain a high position in Parliament. And so it is best if you take that, because I know that you are the best. I know that you’ll be away from us even more and work more, but that’s o.k. with us”. I almost cried.
I decided to run for that office. Many representatives figured my candidacy must be a joke, especially the war profiteers amongst them and those who have become rich as criminal accomplices - but that just spurred my determination. The rich representatives accumulated votes by arranging luxurious dinners in their homes or the best hotels in town, inviting those parliamentarians whose votes they needed. I didn’t have the money for such things.
I got up in the middle of the night to write my speech, but I sat there until dawn staring at the empty sheet of paper not knowing where to start and what I should say. Normally I like writing speeches, they just keep pouring out of my heart. This time it was different, and after a while I tore the paper, the words just sounded hollow.
In the morning of election-day the candidates and their entourage wandered the corridors of the parliament, and tried to acquire support in the last minute. There were ten more candidates for the office of the Vice President of the Lower House. All of them but me were well known, and some of them were very powerful. At around 10 o’clock an employee of one of my opponents called on me to withdraw my candidacy. He offered me a considerable amount of money in return. I was appalled but as sad as it may sound, it did not surprise me. How on earth did people dare to buy such an important election? And how could they dare to consider me corruptible?!
I declared how much I love Afghanistan and our culture and that I wanted to dedicate myself entirely to improving the situation of our country. I spoke fast as always when something comes straight from my heart and concentrating deeply I almost overheard the applause at first until it became louder and louder. As I ended, many representatives - men and women, traditionalists, influential MPs - enthusiastically applauded. Many came to me and congratulated me for the sincerity of my words. An old friend of my father, a Pashtu from the Kundus Province, slightly kissed me on the forehead and whispered: “You did honour to your father’s name”.
“As the counting started, my heart nearly stopped: I won the election with a large majority of votes. It was for the first time in Afghan history that a woman, a “poor girl”, had been elected into such a high political office. ”
Suddenly I was surrounded by journalists who bombarded me with questions. What I considered to be the highest priorities as a woman? How I thought to change the situation in the country? How a woman would deal with the public interest attached to such a high office? As all the posts were distributed, the Parliament took up work. That, too, was a historic occasion broadcast not just in Afghanistan but worldwide. As the President of Parliament was absent I chaired the first plenary session. After the sitting went well, several male colleagues expressed their surprise for a woman to have maintained order that proficiently. They understood what a powerful signal that was to women in Afghanistan and to the nation.
But soon envy arose. Some older and corruptible representatives in parliament were losing power and popular support by the day and they were well aware of it. These old-school politicians, whose preferred means of communication were weapons and intimidation, don’t fare well when a young woman like me gains political popularity and influence. In the corridors or when returning to my place after a speech I heard them whispering: “How? A woman leading our parliament and we have to sit here and watch? She has to be stopped.”
The plenary session began. I quietly sat there trying to sort out my thoughts and observing the happenings. Whatever the outcome would be - it was exciting to participate in this event. As I was summoned to hold my speech, on my way to the podium, some male representatives were looking at me somewhat disparagingly, some showed open disapproval. My friend Sabrina smiled in my direction which calmed and encouraged me. It was my first time to speak in front of the other MPs and I trembled slightly. I took a deep breath and first introduced myself. Then I declared that I am running for this office, because I want to demonstrate that Afghan women are capable of great things and can assume leadership. I would always prioritise the interests of my country above my own, I said, and that despite my 30 years I had much professional experience.
My dream for Afghanistan
I was visiting a village in Badakhshan in order to listen to the problems of the people and to learn how I can help them. The streets were in a bad shape and as the night descended we found ourselves stuck in the village; we would have to stay for the night. The family who hosted us was one of the richest in the desperately poor village. On the way to their home young people were greeting us, having gathered by the roadside. After having spoken to them for a while, we proceeded together to the house of our host.
A beautiful woman of about 30 years in torn clothes wearing a dark read hijab came out of the house and welcomed us. She seemed sad and intimidated as she asked us into her living room, which was small and dark. Only after a while, as my eyes got used to the darkness, I realized that she was heavily pregnant.
The woman brought us green tea, dried mulberries and walnuts. I asked her how many children she had. She replied she had five, all under the age of seven and that she was eight months into another pregnancy. I was worried about her as she seemed to be tired and in poor health.
The dinner provided a good chance to speak with her and to learn more about her life. I started to make conversation about the weather. “It is summer”, I said, “but your village is so high up in the mountains, that it is still cool. It must be bitterly cold in winter”. The shy woman replied, “Yes, in winter there’s so much snow, that we can’t even leave the house”. “But how are you managing then?” I asked. “Does anyone help you with the domestic work?” “No one helps me”, she replied. “I get up at four in the morning, clear snow from here to the stable doors, I then feed the cows and the other animals. After that I prepare dough and bake nan, our flat bread, in the tandoor. Then I clean the house.”
I told her that she looks sick and that I am worried about her, to which she answered that she does feel sick. “I am working throughout the whole day and at night I can hardly move, because I am in such pain.” As I asked her why she won’t go to see a doctor, she told me that was not possible as the nearest hospital is so far away. I promised her that I will talk to her husband, and ask him to bring her there. But she replied, “If my husband takes me to hospital, we’d have to sell a goat or a sheep, to pay the treatment. He would never allow that. Besides, how shall we get there? The hospital is a three days march away and we neither have a donkey nor a horse.”
I argued that her life was more important than a goat or a sheep, and that when she is healthy she can care for the whole family, while when she is sick she can’t care for anyone. But she just sadly nodded her head and said, “If I die, my husband will marry a new wife, but the milk of the goats and the meat of the sheep are needed to feed the entire family. If we lose a goat or a sheep, what should our family feed on?”
I have never forgotten this poor woman, and I doubt whether she is still alive. There are hundreds of thousands of women like her in Afghanistan. The average Afghan woman is not afraid of dying, and at all costs strives for her family to be happy and contented. She is brave and friendly, always ready to sacrifice herself for others. But she receives very little in return. And often a goat or a sheep is more important to her husband than the life of his wife.
“I dream, that all people in Afghanistan are equal one day. Afghan girls have potential, talents and skills. They shall learn to read and write, and to participate in the social and political future of our country. ”
The success of a democratic Afghanistan depends on two main factors: the first of which is education. All children, girls and boys, have to receive an education that is affordable to their parents. They need it for their personal future, but also to enable them to meet informed decisions for the future of their country. The second factor is security. Law and order need to provide an environment where also simple Afghan families can build their life in security and peace. And when the time comes for elections, they must be able to trust that they won’t be harmed while voting and that their vote will count.
The Taliban are after my life in every way you can think of and seek to kill me, just as they are continuously threatening the life of Afghan men and women – intellectuals, journalists, critical thinkers and those who are friendly to the West. Afghanistan made a huge step backwards, the Taliban plunged the country back to the medieval ages of a conservative Islam with moral concepts that have no equal anywhere in the world nor in the history of Islam.
When I am driving through Kabul, I am happy about the young girls in their school uniforms, a black salwar kameez with a white headscarf. In the last ten years hundreds of thousands of girls, including my daughters, were given the opportunity to go to school. When the Taliban will return, these girls will be banned again into their homes and silenced under their burqas. Dubious laws will make sure that women would have less rights than a dog. Our country will again plunge into darkness. Letting this happen would be the ultimate betrayal.
First published in German magazine EMMA (4/2011) www.emma.de
English by Amira Nagy