Sleep well, Baba.
Today I grieve for the last King of Afghanistan, and the end of a 300+ year dynasty that technically ended when he abdicated under duress in 1974, but truthfully ended with his death...back at home in Kabul, this morning.
Zahir Shah watched his father die violently, and was prounounced King at age nineteen. Kabul today, as he saw it at ninety-two, was concurrently different and the same, I suspect. The Baba introduced the novel idea of a constitutional monarchy, a Parliment, universal suffrage, (to include women's suffrage,) and mandatory, state-funded primary-school educations for all citizens of Afghanistan in 1964. He was ahead of his time in a place that was anything but.
He was a dignified fellow. A friend of Kennedy. He had his shortfalls as a citizen, a man, and as a human. People looked past it though because he was all they had to believe in.
People tried to kill him often. While at exile in Rome, a Portugese assassin posing as a reporter tried to kill him with a polished Pashto dagger...stabbing him several times. As a result, he took to unscheduled interviews with people who wanted to talk with him. Often at midnight, one, or two in the morning. The phone rang once, you were told to be a certain place, and if you didn't show up, that was it. The chance was lost.
Once in Kabul his motorcade passed the Embassy. It was one of the four times he left the downtown palace that year, preferring his seclusion. Everything stopped. The kites were not flying. The people in the markets stopped bartering. The omnipresent sound of small arms fire was noticeably absent. It even seemed like the birds stopped chirping.
Then...as if of cue, regardless of tribal affiliation, nationality, vocation, or social class, the people all started cheering and waving as the cars rolled past. A window rolled down, and for a brief moment, we caught a glimpse of the tired little old King.
After a bloody month, there were no killings in Kabul that day, or the day that followed. Coincidence? Maybe. Or perhaps just the knowledge that when people have a common goal, idea, or person that they can believe in, there is much less time for petty squabbles.
Sleep well, Baba. Your nation will miss you.
Zahir Shah watched his father die violently, and was prounounced King at age nineteen. Kabul today, as he saw it at ninety-two, was concurrently different and the same, I suspect. The Baba introduced the novel idea of a constitutional monarchy, a Parliment, universal suffrage, (to include women's suffrage,) and mandatory, state-funded primary-school educations for all citizens of Afghanistan in 1964. He was ahead of his time in a place that was anything but.
He was a dignified fellow. A friend of Kennedy. He had his shortfalls as a citizen, a man, and as a human. People looked past it though because he was all they had to believe in.
People tried to kill him often. While at exile in Rome, a Portugese assassin posing as a reporter tried to kill him with a polished Pashto dagger...stabbing him several times. As a result, he took to unscheduled interviews with people who wanted to talk with him. Often at midnight, one, or two in the morning. The phone rang once, you were told to be a certain place, and if you didn't show up, that was it. The chance was lost.
Once in Kabul his motorcade passed the Embassy. It was one of the four times he left the downtown palace that year, preferring his seclusion. Everything stopped. The kites were not flying. The people in the markets stopped bartering. The omnipresent sound of small arms fire was noticeably absent. It even seemed like the birds stopped chirping.
Then...as if of cue, regardless of tribal affiliation, nationality, vocation, or social class, the people all started cheering and waving as the cars rolled past. A window rolled down, and for a brief moment, we caught a glimpse of the tired little old King.
After a bloody month, there were no killings in Kabul that day, or the day that followed. Coincidence? Maybe. Or perhaps just the knowledge that when people have a common goal, idea, or person that they can believe in, there is much less time for petty squabbles.
Sleep well, Baba. Your nation will miss you.