A Land of Endless Tears

By Hannah Bloch

Dusk was falling last Tuesday when news of the attack on America first reached this war-ruined city, Kabul. In the dusty twilight, Afghans held radios to their ears, listening to static-filled accounts on the Voice of America and the BBC Pashto- and Persian-language services. Because the country's Taliban rulers forbid television, Afghans could see no pictures of the destruction that had people everywhere else glued to their sets. The immensity of the World Trade Center had to be described. When Afghans asked me about the Twin Towers, I compared them to Afghanistan's giant Bamiyan Buddha statues, a symbol of national heritage that the Taliban blasted to dust six months ago.

The immensity of America's agony, however, required no explanation. More than 20 years of war have heightened Afghans' empathy for the suffering of others. "The attack on the U.S. was very bad. It killed innocent people, ordinary citizens," Zalmai Khan, a housepainter, said sadly. "Why must so many people die?" another man cried. "It doesn't matter who they are; they all have a mother and a father." Many said they believe that Osama bin Laden, whom the Taliban treats as an honored guest, is a liability and should be expelled from Afghanistan. But the Taliban has little intention of giving up bin Laden. "He was a friend in a time of need. It would be very much cowardly to leave him at this stage in his life," Foreign Minister Wakil Ahmad Muttawakil told me.

And so Kabul is bracing to pay the price for that hospitality. "Will America send rockets and bombs to hit Afghanistan?" some residents asked anxiously. In Islamabad, the Taliban ambassador to Pakistan issued a warning. "If any regional or neighboring country helps the U.S. attack us," Abdul Salam Zaeef told reporters, "it would draw us into a reprisal war."

After so many years of war, Kabul, formerly a cosmopolitan capital, has become a city of grinding poverty, distrust and fear under the watchful eyes of the Taliban and its heavy-handed religious police. Residents have learned to live alongside an array of the Taliban's so-called foreign guests, including Arabs, Chechens, Kurds, Uzbeks and Pakistanis--all believed to be in Afghanistan for secret military training. In the 1980s, Washington fueled Afghan resistance to the Soviet invasion by passing billions of dollars of covert aid to mujahedin fighters. Once the Soviets pulled out, the mujahedin turned on one another, and the country descended into civil war. When the Taliban--a band of warrior students--swept into Kabul five years ago, it imposed a ruthless Islamic rule. It brought peace to the city, but the world was outraged by its practices, including public executions and a ban on work for women and schooling for girls. Music, TV and photographs were prohibited, and men were forced to grow beards.

Among those evacuated last week were relatives of two American aid workers on trial here, accused of preaching Christianity. After traveling 10,000 miles to a country where few dare to venture, the parents had to leave their daughters behind to an uncertain fate. Waiting to board a U.N. plane for Islamabad, Deborah Oddy, mother of Heather Mercer, 24, wore a black head scarf and sobbed uncontrollably. Since the Soviet invasion in 1979, this country has seen more than its share of tears. Now the frightened residents of Kabul are worried that this latest incident will bring on even more.