Hunger at the Heart of Empire

At Union Station, Washington, DC’s central transportation hub, I sat outside a café, not so much to pass the time as to delay it, when a young black woman with a disheveled appearance walked past my table. My eyes instinctively followed her, not with the surprise one might expect, but with a sense of curiosity. There was something about her presence that seemed at odds with the prevailing surroundings.

A book, Sakhalin Island, by Chekhov rested in my hands. I paused, lifting my head above its pages to keep her in sight. With two or three brisk steps, she approached a marble-clad wall beneath the station’s soaring vaulted ceiling.

This station is one of the outstanding examples of late nineteenth-century Beaux Arts architecture. Designed by the renowned American architect Daniel Burnham, it reflects an academic style inspired by the Arch of Constantine in Rome. The station’s main hall is cylindrical in shape, rising to a height of 29 meters and stretching nearly 60 meters in length.

The woman in a ponytail was dressed in black. Her upper garment, resembling a sleeveless vest, exposed her underarms and part of her large breasts. It seemed she was not wearing a bra. When she reached a large black trash can outside the café, she did not hesitate. She plunged both hands into the bin. She looked hungry. It was as though she had come from far away in hopes of quenching her hunger with the scraps of food that travelers had discarded there.

Suddenly, I was struck by involuntary memories of street children in Kabul. Many times, I had seen children collecting leftover and spoiled food from piles of garbage with their small, fragile hands and eating it right there among the trash, one bite after another, simply to ease their hunger.

What difference is there between those children in Kabul and this Black woman whose hunger has drawn her to a trash can in a train station of one of the wealthiest cities in the United States? One suffers from the poverty and injustice that result from years of war and bloodshed, which have often been imposed on her through colonial powers, and the other suffers from a systematic injustice where her government, instead of spending the taxes of its subjects on the welfare of society, uses them to wage wars on countries around the world.

This station lies less than a mile from the US Capitol, where some of the most consequential decisions are made regarding who will have access to justice, freedom, equality, and basic rights. It is less than two miles from the White House, where the most powerful person in the world sits at the helm of the deadliest military on earth, spending billions of dollars while making decisions about war, invasion, and the killing of people whose faces they may never see, even thousands of miles away.

Yet in the heart of the rich imperial power, people are still hungry. To relieve that hunger, they scavenge through the discarded leftovers and food waste found in garbage bins outside restaurants and cafés.

Only a few seconds into her scavenging for food had passed when I heard a woman’s voice behind me:

“Excuse me, you don’t need to rummage through the trash. Come here, I’ll give you half of my sandwich. I haven’t touched it.”

Without saying a word, the woman pulled both hands out of the pile of trash and quickly walked past my table. A few seconds later, I saw her carrying a cardboard sandwich box, moving away with hurried steps before disappearing into the crowd.

I found myself wondering why she had not eaten the sandwich right away. Then I thought to myself: who knows, perhaps she was taking that half sandwich home to her children who perhaps are hungry too, or a partner who is waiting for a bite.

Rather than calming my mind and heart, these thoughts unsettled me even more. Now, an hour after the incident, as I sit on a train bound for Philadelphia writing these notes, I want to say this: witnessing systematic suffering is a profoundly exhausting and heartbreaking experience, not because of the nature of suffering itself, but because of its systematic and global nature.

Note: this is a translation of a post initially written and published in Farsi on my Farsi blog, 

Released from ICE purgatory

Hasan (a pseudonym), a Hazara refugee from Afghanistan, and one of my interlocutors, was subjected to a ritualized bureaucracy. He was required to report to ICE for a routine check-in. Five months ago, as usual, when he showed up for a check-in, thinking it was a normal one, but instead, he was told he was on the "expedited removal" list. "You must come with us," recounted Hasan, his shock upon hearing those words, while he was standing in front of a few ICE officers ready to force him into a van.

Four ICE officers forced him into a white van and drove him away. "I didn't know where they were taking me," he told me, throwing up his hands, to explain his state of confusion and shock after the fact. He ends up at a detention center in the southernmost point, near the Mexican border. There, a large prison with different units and sections holds thousands of detainees awaiting deportation.

Hasan spent about five months in a legal and social purgatory in a total institution, which is designed to strip individuals of their humanity. 

Fortunately, he had a lawyer and was moving forward with his asylum case. His asylum application was finally approved while he was in detention, and he was released.

Hassan is a Hazara refugee from Afghanistan who worked for the US government and NGOs but failed to evacuate him during the fall of Kabul, leaving him exposed. He trekked his way through 11 countries to reach the US border. Like many others, he had crossed the border to claim his rights to protection, which were exposed by the US withdrawal.

Last night, I went to see him. He was on cloud nine. He was overjoyed and busy with overdue phone calls and text messages from his friends and family. Du-baarah zinda shudam, Nasim berar [I came back to life, brother Nasim], he told me while holding my hands on his as if we had not shaken hands for ages. 

He brought bombs on his people, now he opposes them

Well, Mr. Khalilzad! It's good to hear that you are against bombs. But during the 20 years of US occupation of Afghanistan, you supported the bombing of the southern regions. US forces, in just 2019, dropped roughly 7,423 bombs on Afghanistanis homes alone. Weren't you one of those who brought American bombers down on your own people? What happened that you suddenly became opposed to bombing? What's the difference between a Pakistani bomb and an American bomb? I haven't heard you criticize Americans for dropping bombs on Afghanistani homes.

Which one serves Pashtun interests and which one doesn't?

Which one, in your opinion, brings peace, and which one doesn't?

And more importantly, which one serves your interests? 

Throughout your memoir, you drone on about subservience and the sycophancy of the Republican leaders and warmonger generals. Once, a retired US official who served in Afghanistan and in the region told me: "Zal sycophantizes so much that I feel nauseous when I see him."

What happened that you are now opposed to bombs?

I am also opposed to bombs. Any kind of bomb. Whether dropped on Afghanistanis, on Palestinians in Gaza, Iran, or elsewhere. But I want to know why you suddenly became opposed to bombs. You were the one who sponsored the bombing of Afghanistan, especially the Pashtuns' homes?

Why do Americans call the cops over everything?

Yesterday, I was on my way to the university library when I saw, from a distance, two officers in dark navy blue uniforms standing by the side of the road. Both were staring at the ground. Occasionally, they would lift their heads and look up at something deep inside the thick branches of a cedar tree. The female officer was pointing with her finger at something up above to the male officer, who had his legs spread wider than usual. A kind of posture that male officers intentionally do to show how badass they are. He shook his head. Then both of them went back to staring at the ground in front of their feet.

When I arrived, I said hello. "Excuse me," I said, "what have you found here?" The female officer, whose commanding tone made it clear she was a newbie, looked at me in a way that meant, "Mind your own business. Keep walking. Who are you to ask what we’re doing here?"

She didn’t know that I’m one of those stubborn types of people who aren’t easily scared off by a sideways (intense) glare - what we Hazaras call qabighda - just to go on my way. I did not move, did not want to leave without having a clue what the officers were doing there. I kept staring at them, waiting for an answer.

The female officer pointed with her finger toward the base of a tree and said, "Because of this poor little  creature." I saw a lifeless squirrel lying on the grass, its eyes still half open. The female officer continued: "One of the students called us that she found a dead squirrel."

"What are you going to do with it?, I asked. 

"If you’ll allow me, I know what to do," I said, thinking my suggestion would relieve the officers from suffering under a scorching sun. 

"What?" asked the male officer, with an impatient tone in his voice, who had not yet said a word. 

"I’ll toss the squirrel’s body into the woods," - I pointed with my finger about five meters away - and continued, "so that maybe a coyote, a crow, or a hungry fox can snack on it and offer a prayer of thanks for us," I responded.

The officer gave me a sideways look, almost on the verge of laughing - whether out of surprise or mockery, I couldn’t tell - and said, "That’s a very good plan, but it’s cruel."

I went to the library. When I came back, almost two hours later, I still saw those officers standing there, over the dead squirrel. 

"Nothing happened? I asked.

"We called animal control so they can come and decide what to do," the female officer responded in a kind of weary tone.

It was clear to me that these cops lacked the skills to deal with the dead body of a squirrel.

As I walked back home, I kept asking myself, why do Americans always call the cops over everything? Even over a dead squirrel on a sidewalk. What does law enforcement have to do with the dead squirrel? 

Then I thought, well, perhaps this is how a society in need of too much security looks. Or in the words of my friend Ron, a society wrapped in cotton wool. My mind didn't stop there. Then, I thought of massive spending on defense, the omnipresent nature of guns, and the integration of gun violence into everyday lives, and the state unleashing brute force on the streets and terrorizing people. Finally, I convinced myself to surmise that this is what a militaristic culture should look like.

Afghanistani refugees killed in US-Israeli attacks in Iran

There are reports coming from inside Iran that the ongoing US-Israeli aggression has resulted in dozens of deaths of Afghan refugees. Due to the internet and communication restrictions in Iran, the information usually travels from Iran to Afghanistan and then spreads from there. Family members call their relatives in Afghanistan to let them know about their safety but as the war goes on, the news has become increasingly harrowing.

According to the BBC Persian, 31 Afghanistani immigrants have lost their lives in the US-Israeli criminal war of aggression against the people of Iran. On social media, various accounts were published, but most report that the number of casualties exceeds 50. Afghanistani Immigrants, especially Hazaras, constitute a substantial presence in construction, municipality, farming, brick factories, stone factories, and other menial jobs.

This father and his two children are among the victims.

Hatred for one's homeland

Once on Twitter, I came across a tweet by an Iranian woman that said: "On the way to the Imam Khomeini International Airport, I got out of the taxi, picked up a handful of soil from the side of the road, and put it in my suitcase so that when I arrive in the US, I can wake up every morning and spit on it."

To this moment, I cannot comprehend the degree of anger and hatred that the Iranian woman harbored towards her homeland. I don't understand why that handful of soil, which is the last remaining connection to her birthplace, is met with such hatred and venom.

When I then place this with the words of my Iranian acquaintance who not only has no qualms about the aggression of the US and Israel against his homeland but is actually rejoicing in it, I'm still left baffled. Where does this immense hatred and spite come from? What is the source? 

I have never seen any Hazara diaspora who, despite enduring decades of oppression and cruelty at the hands of Pashtuns, has expressed hatred toward their homeland.

Speaking of "human shields"

 What do we know when they talk about "human shields"? 

Here is a cartoon by Kamal Sharaf, a Yemeni cartoonist. It says it all. 

Justifiable anger: wishing for Pakistani bombs

There is a troubling convergence of sentiments s among some Iranians and Afghanistanis when it comes to the overthrow of their respective regimes. In recent days, members of the Iranian diasporas have celebrated the US and Israel dropping bombs on innocent people, showing blatant indifference to civilian casualties. Similarly, in Kabul and other provinces, some Afghanistanis have wished for more Pakistani bombs on the Taliban strongholds.

Social media platforms are awash with sentimental tweets and posts celebrating the Pakistani attacks on Taliban ammunition depots in Kabul, and what Pakistan alleges are terrorist cells in the south and east of Afghanistan, close to the Pakistani border. In various WhatsApp and Facebook groups that I'm part of, hopes for more Pakistani bombs raining on Taliban bases across the country are not subdued. 

Roya, one of the users originally from Mazar-e Sharif currently living in Kabul whose two brothers were killed by the Taliban, wrote in Farsi:

"When I see the Pakistani war planes in the sky of Kabul, I see them as angels of freedom. I want them to soar longer in the sky, so that the wrath of their sounds destroys the hearts of the terror groups ruling our homeland."

Ahmad, who also lost family members to suicide by the Taliban, wrote in Farsi:

"Every time I see the Pakistani aircraft in the sky of Kabul, I just wish they would drop bombs on all Taliban bases. I wish Pakistan would punish its unruly rascals." 

Obviously, these sentiments are born out of deep grief and loss. Reading through the comments, I could not help but think and compare these comments with the Iranians who celebrated the death of Khamenaie while denying the death of 175 innocent school children killed by the US bomb on February 28th. 

Considering the context of their grief and loss, these sentiments are deeply human, but there is a dilemma, and that is a moral one, which raises an unsettling question. While the pain of these individuals who lost family members in the Taliban's atrocities is understandable, how can one wish and justify more bombs to be rained on their oppressors without considering the civilian tolls and the continuation of the cycle of violence?

Some might say that those in Afghanistan who wish for Pakistani bombs to destroy the Taliban are perhaps morally bankrupt, but this kind of categorical denial is rejecting a painful reality, and that is that they are human beings and they are responding to the tragic events both retrospectively and predictably. Their celebration and wish for more Pakistani bombs are perhaps both a cry for justice and a display of grief. 

Iranians who are celebrating a death and dismissing the dead

In the neighborhood where I live, there is an Iranian grocery store and a bakery inside, which I usually go to. The grocery store's owner is a pro-Shah. The entire store is decorated with mini Lion and Sun flags. Last night at seven o'clock, I went to get bread and saw a long line. I forced myself to wait in line, which I usually don't, unless I am starving. Within moments, I noticed middle-aged women in the line had their phones out of their purses, showing each other photos of men with white and black turbans. I saw one of those photos from a distance; it was of Gholam-Hossein Mohseni-Eje'i, the former Iranian minister of intelligence.

A tall, middle-aged woman with a large bracelet on her right hand said to the woman in front of her, "kasafat ra nabudash kardan" - they eliminated that filt. She meant Ali Khamenei. One of the women replied, "dasti shon dard nakuna -- thank you so much. "They hit him in a way we didn't expect," she added with a bit of stupification performance.

"Baba, I still can't believe it. They should have taken DNA from his filthy corpse. These filths know a thousand ways to survive," said a plump, not-so-middle-aged woman with a receding hairline.

"Bravo, for three days now we've been dancing and celebrating. We're so happy words can't describe it," said a tall woman who was standing in front of me. Everyone confirmed with cheerful faces, expressing happiness.

I asked the woman in front of me, "Excuse me, when were you last in Iran?" I asked in English, of course. I was afraid to ask in Farsi, afraid they'd jump on me. Ever since I heard about an Afghanistani restaurateur in Hamburg, Germany, who refused to install the flag of the Iranian Lion and Sun flag (or better known as the monarch's flag) in his restaurant, was stabbed to death by supporters of Reza Pahlavi, I've been very cautious since then when encountering Iranians in Orange County.

"Where are you from?" the woman asked me, before she answered my question.

"From Indonesia," I replied, of course not telling the truth to protect myself.

"Two years ago," she replied.

"I read in the news that Iranians living in Los Angeles celebrated the death of Ali Khamenei, but in the same attacks, 165 school children were killed by American and Israeli bombs. Don't you think Khamenei's death and those 165 children are connected?" I asked in order to challenge their moral standing.

With noticeable annoyance and open indignation, the woman said, "Those 165 children were children of Revolutionary Guard soldiers." Another woman interrupted her and said, "No, the school was bombed by the regime itself."

"Did you see or read that somewhere? I asked curiously.

She showed me a screenshot from a social media page that I later looked up and found was linked to Hasbara - the Israeli propaganda organization. 

I left the line without bread.

The knife has reached the bone

In the past few hours, some emotionally charged Afghanistanis have shown a bit of excitement regarding the Pakistani army's airstrikes on Taliban militants' bases in Kabul, Kandahar, and other places. "Pakistan zinda bad - Long live Pakistan"- is a repeated phrase I see shared across social media platforms.  

One user even wished that Syed Asim Munir (the Pakistani army chief) would liberate Afghanistan from the grip of the Taliban. One user wrote, "Pakistan's airstrikes have made the groundwork for resistance against the Taliban feasible."

Another user warned that "In these circumstances, one must be vigilant that the people must not be deceived in the name of the homeland by the Taliban criminals. A homeland that is under the criminal rule of the Taliban is not a homeland." As the old proverb goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

After reading these comments of those emotionally invested Afghanistanis, obviously with a sense of responsibility, regarding Pakistan's strikes on Taliban regime bases, now I understand better the conversation I had with an Iranian friend who told me, "You know, every year around this time, we Iranians used to look forward to Nowruz Eid, this year, we're counting down the days and hours to an American attack."

Now I better understand the situation of those Iranians who are waiting for American bombs. And I also better understand the desires of those who are under the rule and oppression of the Taliban and are happy about Pakistan's airstrikes on Taliban military bases and wish for their country to be freed with the help of Pakistan.

"kard ba ustukhan rasida" -- The knif has reached the bone-- [i.e., they are at their breaking point], a popular proverb in Farsi, is what my Iranian used to explain to me the situation of those living under oppression, whether in Iran or Afghanistan.

I mean, what parallels of anguish. From those Iranians who wish for American bombs to those Afghanistanis who hope for Pakistani strikes, it is a deeply unsettling time. 

What a world we are living in!

Wishing for bombs

These days, some Iranians are dying to see the US attack their country. This morning, I was talking to an Iranian friend, Reza, who told me, "You know, every year around this time, we Iranians used to look forward to Nowruz Eid, this year, we're counting down the days and hours to an American attack."

I didn't have the words to express myself, except to acknowledge a subdued sense of sadness. I said that an attack, no matter the form, is bad. He then asked, "Is the attack by the mullahs and their deadly forces, who have killed thousands recently, good?"

I said the answer is negative (i.e., of course not). An attack, from any perspective and by any state or actor, is horrible. I mean, people should not reach the point where they wish for a foreign attack on their homeland.

Then, my Iranian friend, with an angry retort, countered, "Imagine a prisoner who is tortured daily and whose agony is unending. He or she wishes that one of the torturers would end the torment with a single bullet. Can you now understand how much some Iranians suffer?"

"Have the people of Iran really reached this point?" I countered.

Eventually, I told my Iranian friend that I do not allow myself to pass judgment on this matter because I do not have the experience of what those in Iran are experiencing, and my understanding falls short, too. "The question is, will their situation improve with a US attack?" I asked.

"Now compare this situation with Afghanistan. Would you wish for a foreign intervention that would lead to the overthrow of the Taliban, who are killing your people, the Hazaras?" Reza irritably followed with his analogical question.

"Not militarily," I said.

"Well, why not for Iran?" he asked bitterly.

"I have no answer," I replied.

The 1993 Afshar Massacre: Testimony from Rabbani's Government

This is part of the confessions of General Mohammad Nabi Azimi, a high-ranking official in the government of Rabbani and Massoud, as recorded in his book. (Urdu va Siyasat Dar Seh Daheh Akheer-e Afghanistan [Army and Politics in the Last Three Decades in Afghanistan] Peshawar: Qisa-khani Bazara Peshawar, Saba Kitabkhanah 1998. p. 632-33)

"The third war of Shura-e Nazar [Ahmad Shah Massoud's party] and the Hazaras occurred on February 11, 1993, and as a result, Afshar in Kabul was leveled to the ground. The men, women, and children of the Afshar Hazaras were mercilessly put to the sword and annihilated by Massoud and Sayyaf forces... To completely intimidate the Hazaras, Ahmad Shah Massoud directed all the tanks, mortars, rocket launchers, and aircraft he had at two points of the city, Chindawol and Afshar [both are Hazara neighborhoods]. Afshar was razed to the ground, and Chindawol was destroyed... Ahmad Shah Massoud himself had gone up on the TV Hill, from where he watched, directed, and managed the attacks. This attack lasted five nights. Hazara people and Shiites were buried alive under tons of rubble from their homes, or were roasted alive and burned in fires. The number of martyrs reached hundreds, even thousands. The Kabul hospital was destroyed, the Maywand Road buildings were ruined, the businesses, homes, caravanserais, and apartments that could be seen from Lailami Caravanserai to Chindawol were all leveled to the ground" (page 632-633).

The Afshar massacre: why we must not forget

Today marks the thirty-third anniversary of the Afshar massacre. On February 11, 1993, a state-sponsored attack under the command of Ahmad Shah Massoud targeted Afshar, in the west of Kabul, a predominantly Hazara neighborhood, during which between 1,500 and 2,000 people were massacred. It remains one of the darkest chapters in the history of Afghanistan. 

For Hazaras, February 11 marks remembrance day each year, a day that brings back the deep wound inflicted on the body and soul of the Hazara people. Many Hazaras believe that it was part of the ongoing genocidal violence against the Hazaras. 

In the early 1990s, a pivotal moment occurred when Hazara, for the first time in history, took up arms to resist their systematic repression.  And yet, the violence did not come from the usual source, such as Pashtuns, but from the Tajik-led Mujahideen government under the leadership of Ahmad Shah Massoud and Burhanuddin Rabbani.

What concerns me most today is that we commemorate this tragedy only once a year — and even then, often only in words. My hope is that one day, Hazaras will compile and establish a comprehensive oral history archive of the Afshar massacre so that future generations become aware of their history and carry forward the memory of this wound so that it never occurs again. 

It is a Nimrod World

"It's a nimrod world, berar [brother]," Zahra told me, describing what she has been witnessing: the rise of authoritarianism and a rapid decline in morale in the current situation, not only here in the US, but across the world. 

After I ended my phone conversation with Zahra, one of my key interlocutors, I found myself dwelling on her phrase jahan-i nimrod—"nimrod's world." I turned to research to better understand its resonance. 

Nimrod is a legendary figure known for his cruelty and tyranny. He is mentioned in the Qur'an as someone who acknowledged no power greater than his own, claimed to be a God, and eventually rebelled even against that divine authority (Surah Al-Baqarah-2:258). His rule was characterized by force, and his realm was perpetually marked by violence and suffering. 

Nimrod, the tyrannical ruler, was killed by a mosquito in the end. The mosquito entered through his nostril, made its way into his brain, and brought him down.

Today’s rulers, from Afghanistan under Pashtun rule, the tribal group the Taliban, to the far‑right white extremists in Europe and America, all share the traits of Nimrod. They are contemporary little nimrods. They are selfish, oppressive, and merciless; thirsty for power and wealth; narcissistic; they see no one but themselves and their families. They want to conquer the world. At the same time, they are foolish. They have little understanding of their own time, place, and environment. They have little understanding of culture and society. They have little understanding of history. 

And they are also cowards. As much as they are cruel and oppressive, they are equally timid and fearful. They only dare to bully the weak. They cannot even look straight in the eye of those who are strong. The root of this fear lies in their arrogance, ignorance, and stupidity, along with traits such as narcissism and aggression.

The Epstein scandal and moral rot

Today I was speaking with Asad, a friend and a long-time interlocutor, someone with whom I often have deep conversations. We were discussing how the release of more of Epstein's files, the convicted sex offender, has revealed the extent to which this pedophile was well-connected to some of the most powerful and famous people. Thousands of names are mentioned in the files, but the notables are a network of powerful and wealthy people. Individuals like Bill Gates, Elon Musk, Bill Clinton, Trump, and Prince Andrew, as well as the most prominent university professors at MIT, Harvard, and Yale, were all friends and companions of this predator. Disturbingly, some of these individuals were apparently complicit in his crime, including the sexual abuse of underage girls, but now deny any wrongdoingdoing.

The Epstein files expose two failures: first, that the institutions supposed to prevent abuse instead enabled it; and second, that our ethical foundations and social trust have fundamentally collapsed. 

What emerges is an implicit double standard in how ethical principles are understood and applied. One set of ethics for the masses, and ethics for the powerful, the wealthy, and influential people. Maybe it should be more explicit. That way, we would have a better understanding of social interactions. At least it would become clearer to us that just as societies are divided and defined into class categories based on power, wealth, education, and profession, creating social stratification, ethical principles should also be defined on the same basis. Such clarity would help us understand that the true nature of social orders, rather than believing in the fiction that justice is applied equally to everyone. 

Violence returns home

photo source nyt

The violence happening in this photograph is not in Iraq and Afghanistan, where it was exported and executed for two decades; it's here, in the US, where it was produced, where it belongs, and where it returns. Violence is not a one-way street; if you produce it, you will be responsible for it, if not directly, it will come through other means. It will find its way as it has before. I like to use Aimé Césaire's term, "imperial boomerang:" violence unleashed on others, eventually makes its way home. This is what is happening in the US right now. Doors are being kicked down, and people are dragged out of their homes, beaten, pepper-sprayed, zip-tied, violently dragged to vehicles, and put in custody with broken limbs. Welcome to a world that is ruled by nimrod!

Beyond silence: Hazaragi music in diaspora

This article in The New York Times by Elian Peltier on Afghanistani music and artists in Pakistan warns that it is in danger of being silenced. Although this claim may be somewhat true, its danger is that it misses the whole picture. Afghanistani music is not only the music performed and recorded by Pashtun and Tajik refugees in Peshawar. Take a trip to Quetta, Balochistan once. There, Hazaragi music is flourishing and offers a fresh promise for the production and proliferation of Afghanistani Hazara music in the diaspora.

One only needs to search for Hazaragi music on YouTube, and you will come across dozens of channels featuring various music groups, with folk and pop genres emerging from Quetta. You would realize that the culture and the music are neither frozen nor silent, but actively produced and innovated in different contexts and catered for a more transnational audience. Yes, Afghanistani music is deterritorialized, but in diaspora it is reterritorialized and claimed through digital spaces like YouTube, Spotify, and social media websites.

Yes, music in Afghanistan has completely fallen silent-- if we entirely disregard private homes of people who surreptitiously still play music and even Taliban members play music on their cellphones--but in the diaspora, it has been revived. Ignoring this issue means narrowing our perspective and seeing the world from a narrow space.

We have to remember to acknowledge the cultural resilience of diasporans in the face of violence, displacement, and ongoing threats of deportation. And we should also remember that culture is dynamic, not static; it can adapt, reinvent, hybridize, influence, and be influenced by other cultures.

Imperial boomerang: violence comes home

Finally, the violence comes home, to where it started and to where it belonged, and from where it was deployed and executed. It's an imperial boomerang, borrowing Aimé Césaire's concept. For years, their force kicked down doors in Iraq and Afghanistan, now their own doors are being kicked down by their own brute force. In this case, violence is not a two-way street; there has been no direct confrontation with the production of US violence from those affected countries; rather, it has had a boomerang effect, coming home where it belongs. 

Photograph source: The Atlantic

How regional fears of escalation undercut Iran's protest movement

It seems no help will be coming from the US or others. The protesters in Iran who have taken to the streets may have realized that returning home would mean death and prison if not killed on the streets. 

This morning, the New York Times reported that the leaders of Arab Gulf states and Israel have asked Trump not to attack Iran for now. The reason has been the fear of Iran’s threat that if the US attacks, Iran will target US military bases in the Gulf region.

This means defeat for the protesters and victory for the regime.

What is concerning is the aftermath of the protests. The heavy shadow of surveillance and the arrest of those who protested in the streets. It is very hard to imagine a revolution being led and brought to fruition from afar by imperial force. In fact, as we have seen, it had jeopardized the protestors and their legitimate demands for political reform and economic stability. 

ICE check-ins and weaponizing holidays

So, here again, the ICE uses the state's banal tools, such as appointment notices/check-ins, to reinforce violence on the most vulnerable population. It is the holiday season, which means people take time off to spend with family and friends to observe collective rituals that strengthen social bonds, but this year, it will not be easy for a specific refugee population. There is a plan to disrupt the cultural and social cohesion among refugees and immigrants with precarious legal status.

I have been hearing from some community members that they have received notices from DHS/ICE to appear for an in-person check-in on particular days, such as Christmas Day (December 25th) and New Year's Day (January 1st). Shawn Vandiver, the president of AfghanEvac, has also written on this on his Substack. 

I assume ICE uses holidays as a cover to detain individuals since it makes the headline less, and attorneys and refugee rights activists might be absent. Not appearing is the best option, but having a lawyer and a support team as a precautionary measure might be helpful. 

Let your lawyer know you are being called for a check-in, register with AfghanEvac, and follow what Vandiver has written here. This is the most helpful guide for those who are in this precarious situation.