Roberta Staley - Voice of Rebellion: How Mozhdah Jamalzadah Brought Hope to Afghanistan

Copyright 2019 by Roberta Staley

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For a copyright license, visit accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

Greystone Books Ltd.

greystonebooks.com

Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

ISBN 978-1-77164-413-6 (cloth)

ISBN 978-1-77164-414-3 (epub)

Editing by Jennifer Croll

Copy editing by Shirarose Wilensky

Proofreading by Jennifer Stewart

Jacket design by Laura Shaw Design

Text design by Nayeli Jimenez

Jacket photograph by Howard J. Davis from the set of the film Red Snow Photographs courtesy of Mozhdah Jamalzadah, except for the two photos on plate 12, courtesy of Barack Obama Presidential Library

Permission for all lyrics quoted in this book granted by Mozhdah Jamalzadah.

Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Conversations have been re-created based on interviews, and some events may not have occurred precisely as depicted. The author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book is correct.

Greystone Books gratefully acknowledges the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples on whose land our office is located.

Greystone Books thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, the British Columbia Arts Council, the Province of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit, and the Government of Canada for supporting our publishing activities.

This book is dedicated to the girls and women of Afghanistan, who continue to fight for human rights and gender equality. In the midst of perennial war, they endure and they hope, drawing courage from those who have come before.

Contents

Prologue

CUT! YELLED THE director.

Mozhdah Jamalzadah flipped the front of the burka up over her head, breathing in the fresh, sagebrush-scented breeze blowing off the parched hills of Kamloops, feeling the heavily beaded sweat along her hairline dissipate. The addition of the heavy dark wig made the burka almost unbearable in the baking heat. Mozhdah sighed. There were many hours of filming still ahead for Red Snowa movie about a Canadian Armed Forces soldier who is taken prisoner by the Taliban in Kandahar while fighting for peace and security in Afghanistan.

The blue burka belonged to Mozhdahs mother, Nasrin, and as Mozhdah wore it, she couldnt help but think about the journey it had taken. Many years ago, Nasrin, along with her husband Bashir, escaped from Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, as civil war ravaged what was left of the country following the Soviet Unions ten-year battle against fierce mujahideen warriors. At the time, Mozhdah was just five years old. The Jamalzadah family fled disguised as peasants, with Nasrin donning the burka, transforming her from an educated urbanite into a silent and obedient Afghan wife and mother. The ruse had worked; Mozhdah and her family eventually made their way to Vancouver, Canada. This symbol of female subjugation had been a means to freedom, and Nasrin had kept it carefully wrapped in tissue paper until now, like a talisman.

But arriving in Canada had been the beginningnot the endof Mozhdahs odyssey. Growing up, she faced racism and struggled to fit into her new country. Later, as a teen, she learned to sing, with Afghanistan as her muse. Obsessed with the thought of helping Afghanistanand especially Afghan womenMozhdah returned to the country of her birth to launch her own television talk show, based upon The Oprah Winfrey Show. But to some Afghans, Mozhdah was just another foreign invader, and she was eventually forced to flee, brutalized and defeated.

Today, surrounded by film cameras, under the shimmering heat, with the director poised to call Action! Mozhdah pulled the burka back down over her head. Yes, she thought, this blue burkathis is where the story truly begins.

PART 1

Seeking Asylum

19891991

CHAPTER 1

Betrayal

THE KNOCK ON the door was hard and authoritative, startling Bashir Jamalzadah and causing him to draw a sharp intake of breath. The students looked up curiously. Bashir, who was at the board writing the outline for the days lecture, put the chalk down, brushed his hands against his carefully pressed dress pants, and smiled, despite a feeling of foreboding, at his students. He walked to the door and opened it only slightly so that his students couldnt see who stood outside.

Outside, dressed in regulation pillbox cap and sand-colored uniform, stood a soldier. Professor Jamalzadah, the man said brusquely in Farsi, Afghanistans official language alongside Pashto.

It was a statement, not a question. Bashir took in the soldiers clear green eyes, his sun-baked face, and how the uniform hung in folds on the gaunt frame. These days, with intellectuals and opponents to Afghanistans Soviet-backed president Mohammad Najibullah Ahmadzais government disappearing without a trace, a soldier at your workplace meant only one thing: arrest. Yet there was something vaguely familiar and nonthreatening about this thin young man with leathery brown skin.

Bashir forced himself to remain calm, professional. I am Professor Jamalzadah. May I help you?

The soldier introduced himself as Hadi. Do you remember me, he asked, lowering his voice, from your psychology and English classes three years ago?

Of coursethose green eyes. Hadi was one of the young student teachers who had come through Bashirs classes at Kabul Pedagogical Institute. It seemed Hadi had been recruited into the Afghan National Army to fight the mujahideen opposing President Najibullah Ahmadzais government. The battle between the national government and mujahideenIslamic guerrilla fighters who battled the Soviet Union following its 1979 invasionhad turned Kabul into a heap of rubble from shelling and rocket bombardments. Yet students still came to Bashirs pedagogy classes, clinging to any semblance of normalcy and the desperate hope that the violence would someday end.

I remember you, Bashir said. He looked at the young man. What could he possibly want? Bashir opened the door just wide enough to slip through. He ensured it clicked shut behind him to prevent them from being overheard. Why are you here? Bashir asked.

The Afghan army is coming to arrest you. They are on their way. You must leaveimmediately. Hadi looked fearful.

Bashir stuttered in alarm. Why? When? Now?

I dont know the reason, but why does it matter? They are coming. I am risking my life to tell you this. You must go!

Bashir looked at Hadi. Yes, I will go now. But I have to speak briefly with my students first. Tell me, Hadi, why are you warning me? Youre a soldier of the Afghan army.

Hadis face softened slightly. Because you are a good man and a good teacher. You taught me a lot. Maybe one day, inshaAllahGod willingI will be a teacher once againif the mujahideen and Soviets do not bomb this country into oblivion. Now go! Quickly!

Thank you, Bashir said. You must go now too!