What could it mean? I headed downstairs and noted the blinking light on my answering machine. My mom was nervous and stuttering about what she had just seen on TV. I caught something about twin towers falling before the machine cut her off. I called and got the details. Thousands dead, she told me, the towers are gone. She was terrified, wanting me to be careful and stay home if possible for fear of falling planes from the sky, even in Portland, Oregon.

I didn't have a TV and couldn't check the news for myself. I drove numbly to work, trying to sort over the secondhand details in my mind. I entered the office to find my co-workers gathered around the television set. All very kind people whom I have known for years and yet I could feel them peer up at me as the words from the news reports "Osama bin Laden," "Taliban," and "Afghanistan" merged to become one. I didn't stop to watch.

In the first 10 days after the World Trade Center bombings, I had seen only about five minutes of the coverage. Perhaps that amounted to what some called my "insensitivity" to the tragedies. It wasn't that I was insensitive, but that my mind was somewhere else other than New York.

While everyone around me wanted to know my thoughts on the World Trade Center, I talked about the starving people in Afghanistan, the kind of oppressions we will never know here, and the 23 years they have had like our day in New York.

This sentiment won me no favors, nor fan mail. But what I never would have guessed is the anguish I felt would be better received in my American circles than in my Afghan circles. While the majority of Afghans were supportive - especially my Afghan sisters, it seemed - a few blasted my vulnerabilities, questioned my right to express myself, and my right to live in America, the place of my origin.

It was a confusing time for all Afghans, to say the least. For years a foreign element has invaded our home, taken it hostage, and exploited its grounds to train human killing machines and warp the minds of young. Now that element had struck out to attack our new home - a place we had run to, to escape similar brutality. The Afghan-American community, like any other, grieved the loss of life, and grief strikes people in different ways.

No precedent set could be applied to such a fantastically unusual tragedy - the Afghan community had to wing it. But a two-decade precedent on an Afghan community further dividing had been well established. The early two-camp dynamic, Communist vs. non-Communist, had mutated during 20-plus years of war to multi-camp divisions based on ethnicity, geography, religion, political affiliation and organizational affiliation.

The Afghan-American activist movement was plagued by infighting and a lack of trust across divisions. With this history and the deep emotions behind it, it was barely surprising Sept. 11 would not bring about the holistic unity some hoped.

Some lines between schisms blurred, while others were newly born. Throw into the mix of already-instituted divisions, those who wanted the US to retaliate quickly, harshly, and at any cost, those who wanted more calculated operations and those who wanted peace. It seemed there were more opinions than there were Afghans.

Perhaps expecting less tension in the Afghan community - or any community that had undergone so much - was illogical in light of these calamities. Shock and numbness had not yet worn off when Afghans began to fear for their own safety.

The days and weeks following Sept. 11 jeopardized the well being of every Afghan or Muslim in America. Some Afghans claimed Greek, Italian or Hispanic heritage to prevent abuse and hid their "Allah" pendants under their clothes. American furor swelled to a permitted violence; people were being hurt and business burned.

Even non-Muslims and those not of Middle-Eastern/Central-Asian descent found themselves in danger: An Indian Sikh was killed for having a long beard and a turban, and a Cherokee woman was run over as her assailant screamed, "Go back to your country!"

A few Afghans responded to the looming backlash by demonstrating their American patriotism, hanging flags from their porches and backing any US efforts to destroy the Taliban and Osama bin Laden, even if their own people were going to be sacrificed meanwhile.

But in the midst of all the tension, a tremendous thing started to happen: The level of activism in the Afghan-American community grew exponentially. The community had suffered low participation in activism; the work was tiring and debates exhausting.

Donor fatigue overwhelmed do-gooders who saw it as an insignificant drop in a vast, endless ocean. An occasional rousing talk from a Senator or a star-studded charity event failed to generate long-lasting support. No one was listening to the Afghan-Americans, and we felt powerless in generating a movement.

However with the world's attention to the Sept. 11 events, people not only listened, but also started asking. Afghan listserves, some barely active, grew to accommodate quickly inclining numbers and adopted many American activists seeking information and looking to help. Sept. 11 demonstrated in the most graphic way what Afghanistan was being used for, and this was completely unacceptable to those who called it home.

The American mainstream media covered the plight of the Afghans with more sensitivity in the passing weeks, and Afghans in the West were seeing - some for the first time - graphic images of what was going on in their homeland. We came together to see what we could do to rid our country of an invasive and terrorizing element, and related to each other's fears in feeling unsafe and frightened. We discussed our anguish at hearing people call for the deaths of all Afghans and dreaded what might happen next.

Afghans joined existing groups, created new ones, and became first-time activists, granting interviews and taking to public speaking to get the word out. We swallowed our nervousness and put our suffering people in front of ourselves.

There is serious talk in the community regarding returning home, either as aid workers or to live permanently. It's incredible to imagine being able to return after not having the choice for so long, and devastating at the same time to think what we will return to. With the world's spotlight on the country grows new hope for a long-awaited peace. It seems the prayers of the Afghan people may soon be answered.

Perhaps the Afghan community is not united in words or ideologies, but maybe this is not a reasonable expectation for a people torn apart by 23 years of war, dozens of conflicting leaders, and countless murdered loved ones. These latest events sparked an interest that old-time Afghan activists could only dream about, and it's vital to our survival as a people and a community that we hold on to it. Our coming together, whether in debate or solace, is the first step in a long road to recovery and healing of war wounds. |