Humility and humanity

The last week has been an incredible lesson in humility. Predictions by seasoned politicians and pundits in the US and elsewhere were absolutely wrong, the analysts who sit on the pinnacle of think tanks were way off. They are now scrambling for explanations, most of which are borderline nonsense. They are unwilling to accept a simple truth — they had no clue of the realities on the ground.

Those who had been reminding the lessons of history were brushed aside — this time it is different, we were told. It was not. The speed of the collapse will serve as a fodder for books for a long time, full of stories of heroes and villains, of naïve leaders and corrupt officials. The current affairs book industry will do just fine. Though I am not sure how many will drive home the most important lesson: the loudest voices had the least knowledge.

For Afghans, many of whom have not seen peace and stability ever in their lives, this is not just an academic exercise or a debate between foreign policy analysts. It is real and raw. It is life and death. The impact of the conflict on displacement, anxiety and trauma cannot be overstated — that too during a pandemic. If we take our bombastic political posturing aside for a minute, we will quickly recognise that it is not the fault of those who are caught in the crosshairs of conflict that their leaders have been corrupt, weak or incompetent. The absence of a robust political system, one that is fair and equitable, is not the fault of mothers and children, the sick and the poor, who now seek shelter and safety. The complicated rhetoric and relationship between us and the politicians in Afghanistan should not cloud our humanity.

Humanity — and not hate — should guide our reaction.

There are, and will be, refugees. They need our support through a policy that is driven by empathy, decency and human dignity. They need our support not because the US says so. The US has no moral authority in this matter when its own treatment of asylum seekers at the southern border is so deeply problematic. Similarly, Australia and the UK, through their racist policies, cannot lecture Pakistan or anyone about refugees. And while Pakistan should make full use of its diplomatic abilities to create a multilateral solution that prioritises health, well-being and human rights, it should also do what is the right.

Human beings should be treated more than mere pawns in a geostrategic battle. And consequently, our policy towards those who seek shelter and safety should not be driven exclusively by defence analysts. It should include public health experts, ethicists, educationists and lawyers who practise (and not just preach) human rights. Our judgement about how to treat those who seek safety, and a shot at life, should be driven not by xenophobia or hatred, but by our own sense of human decency.

In the last decade, as I have worked with colleagues in refugee camps in the Middle East and Africa, I have learned that things can change rapidly. Those who may have safety in their own homes in their country one day, might find themselves confined to the camps on the next day. Most of them are there not because of any actions or inaction on their part — but because of fate. In Lebanon, I have met Syrian teachers, technicians, nurses, farmers and industry workers in camps. No-one a decade ago would have thought that a third of Syrian citizens would leave the country and would need help from countries near and far. It all happens quickly. It can happen to any of us as well. If we, or our loved ones, were to ever face displacement in the face of conflict, we would want to be treated decently, with kindness, respect and humanity. We would not want to be condemned because of the sins of our politicians. The Afghans fleeing the conflict deserve the same.

Published in The Express Tribune, August 17^th, 2021.

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