Welcome to the Land of Silent Trees
SILENT TREES was in the making for a long time. In a way, the story has always been with me. In Afghanistan, when I lived there, experiencing political oppression was an everyday affair. It hurt badly and constantly.
Even when it wasn’t directed at me, watching it happen to anyone was painful and distressing. An acquaintance of mine back then was a rich and influential man. He had extremely bright eyes, was energetic and full of ideas as to how our society should be reorganized and political power brought under the control of the populace through pluralistic institutions. He lived in an elegantly furnished house and often had guests over for dinner. His influence, however, had less to do with his wealth and active social engagement. It had more to do with what he said and wrote. He was a fierce critic of the political system and promoted democracy and human rights. One day, without warning, he was imprisoned. As was often the case, people refrained from discussing his ordeal. He had angered the powers that be and the prudent thing was to forget he had ever existed.
Many years later, I met him again. I was in my office when he entered. His sudden, unexpected appearance shocked me, and I needed several long moments to get hold of myself. He had aged almost beyond recognition. His back was bent and he walked with small, unsteady steps. When he sat down and we waited for tea to be brought, he asked me in a weak voice whether I was doing alright. I thanked him and asked him the same question. He looked down at the coffee table and remained silent for awhile. Then, he looked at me and said, “It is God’s will that I’m alive and here. That means I’m doing fine.” He drank his tea in silence and left. After he left, I was distraught for many days, thinking about what he must have gone through in prison, broken to an extent that he was merely a shell with no life left in him.
Writing Silent Trees forced me to reflect on my life in Afghanistan and relive what I had encountered and seen others experience. The writing process was painful but also exhilarating. The pain was in the past, the exhilaration in the present. I had survived the arbitrary nature of power held in the hands of dictators and murderers. My children and I are safe and live free lives in a country where the will of law prevails. And I have gained the freedom to tell others how fortunate we are in America and that we should never lower our guards in defending the freedom we have.
