HARRIET
LOGAN
–
REVIEWS & PUBLICATIONS
Christian
Science Monitor
iVillage
Essay
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Lives
of torment and resistance unveiled
Three books about the position of women in Afghanistan
By Heather Hewett
No other image has come to symbolize the enigmatic position of Muslim
women more than the veil and its paradoxical mechanics: By concealing
women from our eyes, it actually increases our desire to see them.
The practice of hijab, or veiling, encompasses a wide range of styles
and degrees of covering. When the Taliban came to power in Afghanistan,
my vocabulary expanded to include "burqa," the full-length
body tent that erases any suggestion of bodily form. When the Taliban
fell in 2001, the world waited to see if Afghanistan's women would
throw off their burqas. While some of them did, many did not.
Three new books take the veil as their entry point into an examination
of women in Afghanistan. Although different genres – one is
a memoir, one a sociological study, and one a collection of photographs
– all attempt to uncover the many layers that enshroud women
by giving voice to their experiences. After 23 years of war in Afghanistan,
where do women stand? As their country rebuilds, what responsibilities
will they assume? And will they play these roles with or without
their veils?
In her riveting memoir, My Forbidden Face, Latifa (the writer's
pseudonym) details how, when she was 16, her life was taken away
by the Taliban. A few days after she finished the first part of
her entrance exam for Kabul University, the Taliban took over the
capital city. Latifa's family – urban, educated, and middle-class
– was devastated. After working through years of civil war,
their "normal" life ended on Sept. 27, 1996. With the
Taliban roaming the streets with guns and whips, they were afraid
to leave their apartment. They had to hide all of their now-forbidden
possessions – books, clothes, photos, music, videos, makeup.
Her mother, a gynecologist, could no longer treat patients; her
father, who lost his business, watched helplessly as his wife sank
into depression. "We all feel our faces drooping from sadness
and fatigue," Latifa writes. "No one turns on the radio
now because there is no more news, no more music, no more poetry.
Nothing but propaganda." When she is forced to wear a burqa
outside, the strong-minded teenager rebels: "This isn't clothing,
it's a jail cell." But she has no other choice.
Eventually they found ways to resist. Her mother treated women who
were prohibited from seeing male doctors; Latifa began an underground
school for girls and boys. Her story ends five years later, with
her family torn apart and Latifa living in exile. She longs to return
but wonders "Who speaks for Afghanistan? I don't know anymore."
While Latifa chronicles the everyday struggles of living in Kabul,
Cheryl Benard provides a broader survey of women's experiences throughout
Afghanistan. In her engaging, and at times polemical, study Veiled
Courage, the sociologist details how Afghan women have fought for
equal rights over the past few decades.
In 1977, a young woman named Meena founded the Revolutionary Association
of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA), a nonviolent, democratic movement
that ran schools for girls, helped women in need, and, in the '90s,
fought against the Taliban. RAWA played a crucial role in documenting
the fundamentalists' violence (its members took pictures with cameras
hidden behind their burqas) and in disseminating information on
their website.
Most of the women involved with RAWA were ordinary Afghans from
cities, villages, and refugee camps – yet their everyday acts
of heroism were reminiscent of the French resistance. "Veiled
Courage" relates the stories of these women as told in their
own words. Drawing from interviews conducted during 2001 by RAWA's
members, Benard gives the reader a broad sense of what women experienced
during their country's era of "gender apartheid" as well
as what they suffered during the rule of the Northern Alliance,
when women were routinely raped and terrorized. Why the brave, civic-minded
women of RAWA have not been fully incorporated into the peace process
is beyond comprehension.
The idea that every woman has a story to tell propels Harriet Logan's
powerful collection of photographs, Unveiled. Logan visited Afghanistan
twice – once during Taliban rule in December 1997, and again
after their defeat in December 2001. When possible, she located
the women from her first visit. Logan's stark black-and-white photographs
and her subjects' stories of loss and hopelessness reveal the traumatizing
conditions of poverty and destruction. And with the inclusion of
a few photographs from the 1970s, a time when women walked the streets
in miniskirts and makeup, Logan conveys how profound the changes
have been.
My favorite picture is of a street scene in Kabul from 2001. Hundreds
of posters and postcards of unveiled Indian women cover a wall –
and in front of them stands an Afghan woman, fully concealed beneath
her burqa.
While the proliferation of images suggests that the city is starved
for contact with the outside world ("Titanic" was a huge
underground hit during the last days of the Taliban), this woman's
thoughts are out of reach. Does she remain in her burqa because,
as Logan observes, Afghanistan's "predatory" streets are
once again unsafe for women? What does this hidden woman think of
the unveiled women she sees?
While many of us had hoped that the end of the Taliban would mean
the achievement of freedom and peace, these books reveal that, to
the contrary, Afghanistan's women still find themselves in an uneasy
place. Their vision of the future remains as veiled and uncertain
as our own.
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