Barber endures close shaves with politics
Although it may seem that this article has nothing to do with anthropology (and at face value, I guess it doesn't), it reminded me quite a bit of Deborah Barndt's "Fruits of injustice: women in the post-NAFTA food system." But rather than following tomatoes to reveal "institutionalized classism, sexism, racism and ageism," this article chronicles men's hairstyles (and the economic shifts experienced by barbers) to reveal the changing social and political atmosphere in Afganistan. Of course, since this is a Globe & Mail article rather than something out of a peer-reviewed anthropological journal, you're going to have to make the connections for yourself. Enjoy!
Barber endures close shaves with politics
By GRAEME SMITH
KANDAHAR, AFGHANISTAN -- Zabihallah Farhad sees a lot of awful haircuts around Kandahar these days, and he considers this a very bad sign. It's the smallest of indicators, just a shaggy fringe underneath men's turbans and caps, but Mr. Farhad is a hairdresser and he notices these things.
The 32-year-old learned to cut hair from his father, who learned from his grandfather, and his elders also passed down an understanding of the way Afghanistan's politics are reflected in the daily grooming of Afghan people.
In fact, Mr. Farhad can trace the last two decades of bloody upheaval in this country by the changes in the clientele at his shabby shop.
The latest change, over the last four months, is the lack of clients. Mr. Farhad says many people seem to be getting haircuts in the safety of their own homes, rather than sitting on the ripped vinyl of his barber chairs. Those chairs have a good view of the street, of the colourful rickshaws and children flying kites, but it's hard to relax knowing that insurgents are exploding bombs in this region almost every day.
"The suicide attackers have badly affected our work," Mr. Farhad said, as he fussed around a young soldier in the chair. "People are afraid, even to get their hair cut."
The shop, with its ripped linoleum covering only half the floor and plastic lawn chairs for guests, has endured much worse times over the years. Mr. Farhad was just starting to learn the hair-cutting trade when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979. In those days, he says, most Afghan men wore long beards, carefully trimmed, with short hair or shaved heads.
The fight against a foreign army made most men around Kandahar forget about their hair, Mr. Farhad said. The mujahedeen grew long, wild locks during their sojourns in the mountains. A few Soviet collaborators shaved their beards entirely, he said, but the general lack of interest in the niceties of life forced most of the hairdressers out of business. Itinerant hair cutters, who once offered their services in the open-air markets, disappeared entirely.
Five haircutting shops in Kandahar survived the Soviet occupation, including the Farhad business. The trade started to recover after the Russian soldiers went home in 1989, leaving Communist leader Mohammad Najibullah clinging to power in the major cities while the mujahedeen squabbled over tracts of countryside.
Haircuts got a bit neater and shorter during the Najibullah regime, Mr. Farhad says, but it only lasted a few years. The mujahedeen came crashing into the major cities, throwing the country into a tumult that didn't finish until the Taliban took power in 1996.
The Taliban brought safety to the streets, but they caused problems for businesses that didn't conform to their medieval version of Islamic law. Within days of the Taliban arriving in Kandahar, a man wearing a big black turban and a Kalashnikov rifle slung over his shoulder walked into Mr. Farhad's shop. The Taliban soldier demanded Mr. Farhad remove the tape player from its shelf and tear down the posters of pastoral scenes and Indian movie stars.
"The Taliban came here and said, 'Don't cut beards. Don't cut hair in foreign styles. Don't do this, this, this. Otherwise we will put you in jail and beat you,' " Mr. Farhad said.
After five dreary years of standard-issue haircuts and long beards, the invasion of foreign troops in 2001 brought a rush of excitement to the shop. Refugees from Pakistan, Iran and elsewhere started streaming home by the millions, bringing with them demands for hairstyles that Mr. Farhad had never seen. DVDs and videos of the movie Titanic were suddenly popular in Kandahar, and Mr. Farhad put a poster of Leonardo DiCaprio on his wall to help him emulate the long bangs desired by fashionable young men. The posters of Indian movie stars went back up, too, along with quirky decorations like the inflated beach ball hanging from the ceiling.
"After the Taliban, everybody came in to get their beards cut," Mr. Farhad said. "The styles were increasing day by day. We had French designs, American designs. The students wanted to look like Leonardo."
The poster of Mr. DiCaprio still hangs prominently on the shop's back wall. But Mr. Farhad hasn't added any other images of Western movie stars to his interior decor. It's been almost five years since the foreign troops arrived, and they still don't entirely control the country. Among Mr. Farhad's clients, the initial rush of enthusiasm for Western styles seems to have waned.
"Life is better now than before," Mr. Farhad said. "But it is getting worse."
Barber endures close shaves with politics
By GRAEME SMITH
KANDAHAR, AFGHANISTAN -- Zabihallah Farhad sees a lot of awful haircuts around Kandahar these days, and he considers this a very bad sign. It's the smallest of indicators, just a shaggy fringe underneath men's turbans and caps, but Mr. Farhad is a hairdresser and he notices these things.
The 32-year-old learned to cut hair from his father, who learned from his grandfather, and his elders also passed down an understanding of the way Afghanistan's politics are reflected in the daily grooming of Afghan people.
In fact, Mr. Farhad can trace the last two decades of bloody upheaval in this country by the changes in the clientele at his shabby shop.
The latest change, over the last four months, is the lack of clients. Mr. Farhad says many people seem to be getting haircuts in the safety of their own homes, rather than sitting on the ripped vinyl of his barber chairs. Those chairs have a good view of the street, of the colourful rickshaws and children flying kites, but it's hard to relax knowing that insurgents are exploding bombs in this region almost every day.
"The suicide attackers have badly affected our work," Mr. Farhad said, as he fussed around a young soldier in the chair. "People are afraid, even to get their hair cut."
The shop, with its ripped linoleum covering only half the floor and plastic lawn chairs for guests, has endured much worse times over the years. Mr. Farhad was just starting to learn the hair-cutting trade when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979. In those days, he says, most Afghan men wore long beards, carefully trimmed, with short hair or shaved heads.
The fight against a foreign army made most men around Kandahar forget about their hair, Mr. Farhad said. The mujahedeen grew long, wild locks during their sojourns in the mountains. A few Soviet collaborators shaved their beards entirely, he said, but the general lack of interest in the niceties of life forced most of the hairdressers out of business. Itinerant hair cutters, who once offered their services in the open-air markets, disappeared entirely.
Five haircutting shops in Kandahar survived the Soviet occupation, including the Farhad business. The trade started to recover after the Russian soldiers went home in 1989, leaving Communist leader Mohammad Najibullah clinging to power in the major cities while the mujahedeen squabbled over tracts of countryside.
Haircuts got a bit neater and shorter during the Najibullah regime, Mr. Farhad says, but it only lasted a few years. The mujahedeen came crashing into the major cities, throwing the country into a tumult that didn't finish until the Taliban took power in 1996.
The Taliban brought safety to the streets, but they caused problems for businesses that didn't conform to their medieval version of Islamic law. Within days of the Taliban arriving in Kandahar, a man wearing a big black turban and a Kalashnikov rifle slung over his shoulder walked into Mr. Farhad's shop. The Taliban soldier demanded Mr. Farhad remove the tape player from its shelf and tear down the posters of pastoral scenes and Indian movie stars.
"The Taliban came here and said, 'Don't cut beards. Don't cut hair in foreign styles. Don't do this, this, this. Otherwise we will put you in jail and beat you,' " Mr. Farhad said.
After five dreary years of standard-issue haircuts and long beards, the invasion of foreign troops in 2001 brought a rush of excitement to the shop. Refugees from Pakistan, Iran and elsewhere started streaming home by the millions, bringing with them demands for hairstyles that Mr. Farhad had never seen. DVDs and videos of the movie Titanic were suddenly popular in Kandahar, and Mr. Farhad put a poster of Leonardo DiCaprio on his wall to help him emulate the long bangs desired by fashionable young men. The posters of Indian movie stars went back up, too, along with quirky decorations like the inflated beach ball hanging from the ceiling.
"After the Taliban, everybody came in to get their beards cut," Mr. Farhad said. "The styles were increasing day by day. We had French designs, American designs. The students wanted to look like Leonardo."
The poster of Mr. DiCaprio still hangs prominently on the shop's back wall. But Mr. Farhad hasn't added any other images of Western movie stars to his interior decor. It's been almost five years since the foreign troops arrived, and they still don't entirely control the country. Among Mr. Farhad's clients, the initial rush of enthusiasm for Western styles seems to have waned.
"Life is better now than before," Mr. Farhad said. "But it is getting worse."