Since becoming one of Afghanistan’s first female mayors, Ghafari has survived multiple assassination attempts, including one in March, when gunmen sprayed her Toyota compact with bullets in Kabul, missing her fiance’s head by inches. After months of ignored requests, an armored vehicle was provided by the cash-strapped government. “If the Taliban get the chance, definitely they will kill me,” she says. “I’m on their blacklist.”
Slight and poised, with a midnight-blue headscarf and oversize glasses, Ghafari is just 27 years old. She is a bold testament to how far Afghan women have come since the 2001 U.S.-led invasion that ousted the extremist Taliban regime. As a child, she was forced to attend a secret school for girls just to get an education. In the post-Taliban era she has thrived, earning a university degree in economics and launching a U.S.-funded radio station in Wardak aimed at women. In 2018, President Ashraf Ghani chose her over 137 other candidates — all of them male — to be mayor of Maidan Shar, the seat of a strategically important province bordering Kabul where the Taliban enjoy support. “All I had was my talent and my education,” says Ghafari. “Nothing else.”
Even as the votes continued to be counted in the early hours of Nov. 4, one thing became obvious before dawn: Joe Biden was going to be the next president of the United States. Though networks were extremely slow to acknowledge Biden’s wins across Rust Belt states, every model showed that Biden was going to win decisively in Minnesota and Michigan. Though Donald Trump had a large early lead among votes counted in Pennsylvania, it was easy to see from the make up of those votes that this was going to change. The closest of these swing states, Wisconsin, had already been called by the Associated Press. While it would take all the way until Saturday before networks made the final call, really the only thing in doubt by that point was the exact size of Biden’s victory.
But well before the final calls were made, at 2 A.M. on Nov. 4, Donald Trump had already made it clear where he was going. Trump appeared before the nation and said, “This is a fraud on the American public. This is an embarrassment for our country. We were getting ready to win this election. Frankly, we did win this election. We did win this election.”
Since Trump is constitutionally incapable of admitting a mistake, but only responds to errors by doubling down, everything that happened after that might have been predicted. Even so, the catalog of actions Trump took in an effort to subvert democracy is astounding.
Long before the television impresario Ted Turner marketed the Atlanta Braves as “America’s Team,” Atlanta had no big league team at all. There was no Major League ballclub anywhere in the Deep South as of 1964, the year three disappeared civil rights workers were found buried in an earthen dam in Mississippi. The city dangled a new stadium, lavish TV rights, parking receipts and the generous patronage of Coca-Cola to attract a franchise.
The Braves of Milwaukee took the bait, which meant that Henry Aaron of Mobile, Ala., was headed back to the South. I’m going to call him Henry in this column because that was the name he preferred, as opposed to “Hank,” a nickname attached to him by a PR man who thought White fans might find it friendlier. A giant on and off the field, Aaron died on Friday, a few weeks shy of his 87th birthday.
How did he feel about the move? As you might expect: “I have lived in the South, and I don’t want to live there again,” Aaron said in anticipation of the Braves’ 1966 debut in Atlanta.
Be humble and curious. Take the time to learn what’s going on, how things work, and what has been tried before. Invite people to coffee.
Don’t rush it. Don’t expect to transform an organization in a short tour of duty. Government operates slowly for good reasons. “Fail fast” is irresponsible in this environment. You’re there to move carefully and fix things.
Pick a doable thing out of a larger problem that you can clearly define.
In 2020, if Trump had flipped 10,342 votes in Wisconsin, 5,890 votes in Georgia, and 5,229 votes in Arizona, he would have won the electoral college while losing the popular vote by 7.01 million votes.
In 2016, if Clinton had flipped 5,352 votes in Michigan, 11,089 votes in Wisconsin, and 23,383 in Pennsylvania, she would have won the electoral college while winning the popular vote by 2.95 million votes.
During quarantine, I've slowly made my way through the Ken Burns Vietnam War documentary originally aired on PBS in 2017. (in Vietnam, they call it the American War)
It's a remarkable work, and I learned some things about American failures that hadn't come through in past reading:
Mistake #1: The origins of the war came in Vietnam's nationalist struggle against brutal, terrible French colonizing forces. Hồ Chí Minh actually quoted the US Declaration of Independence in his own Declaration, and had sought connections with the US in 1946. We had the chance to bring Vietnam into the US sphere of influence, but working with a communist was too hard for the US, so we sided with the doomed French and therefore set ourselves on the side of the colonizers.
Mistake #2: In 1954, we interfered with the peace process and fair vote that was about to go to the communists (because of mistake #1) and set up a southern government that would forever struggle with foundational legitimacy.
Mistake #3: the person the US installed to rule was hyper-oppressive, though thanks to mistake #2 he was set up to fail. We had Ngo Diem assassinated and continued to treat Vietnam's successor governments as puppets.
Mistake #4: because of mistakes 1-3, the South was not able to stand on its own against the north, causing the US to continuously, subtly slide deeper and deeper into a conflict without a winning strategy.
Mistake #5: the government knew this, but kept it quiet in order to win the 1964 election for Johnson in a big way (arguably enabling Medicare and Medicaid to exist today)
Mistake #6: when quietness was no longer an option, the US government lied as part of its losing war strategy, creating victories by manipulating metrics and body counts
Mistake #7: the basic tactics of the war destroyed American troop morale (fighting for pointless hills, supposedly to keep violence out of the cities), because thanks to mistakes 1-5 eventually being understood, and mistake 6 destroying trust, the government lost its effectiveness to prosecute the war.
Mistake #8: the failure of these tactics and failed military leadership created the conditions for the US to commit terrible massacres.
Mistake #9: the US (specifically Nixon) lied to the South Vietnam government about its commitments to support that government and broke its promises by writing checks congress would not cash (thanks to mistakes 6-8)
Mistake #10: the US failed to keep its promises to individual South Vietnamese to whom we owed debts of honor to evacuate, and even blocked for a time immigration of Vietnamese people to the US who had no viable life in Saigon.
I also learned about some failures on the part of peace activists:
Visiting Hanoi and swallowing propaganda whole that covered the North's violations of human rights and massacres
Raising the Viet Kong flag in protest marches, a force that was actively killing South Vietnamese civilians
Spitting on troops that had served their duty honorably, who had no ability to influence policy
I also think the US today is still stricken with the failure to resolve Vietnam. That led to the rancor of the 2004 election, and to much of the tension today between people of a certain age.
I've ended up with a few perpetually open tabs on my mobile browser (side note: are those tabs?) and thought it'd be interesting to share here what's organically ended up being referenced most by me, aside from the WMATA "next train" app.
Saw many "bury" cities on way through on Greyhound but never actually stepped outside the bus, so this doesn't count. Have driven through before but I don't think I ever interacted with anything but a gas station.
Drove through in 2024 and stayed in Missoula, had lunch in Winnett on way to North Dakota. Some bad snow/ice so diverted from I-90 to state route 200, which was lovely.
Second favorite state with connections and time in most major cities & near Thurmond Chatham Wildlife Management Area many summers. Backpacked as well.
I woke up this morning thinking about the difference between acting naturally and acting humanly.
Naturally, we pursue animalistic behavior - violence is common in history, as is all manner of horrible behaviors towards others. Our animalistic side is deeply tribal, discards the Golden Rule, and acts based on intrinsic feeling.
Some of those aspects of us are helpful; others are harmful. We've enacted our Rights into law, we've embraced our shared humanity in each other, and we've built a global civilization based on shared rules and practices that enable strangers to connect and communicate.
What do we do with those natural parts of ourselves that don't fit in a world of common humanity? How do we channel them?
Not that anyone is going to care about my opinion, but I feel an urge to say this before any vote takes place: regardless of the actions of the Democratic party's leaders in the Senate, the accusation against the Supreme Court nominee deserves full investigation to the satisfaction of a supermajority of the American public, including into some of the questions that were new after yesterday's testimony. Republicans should use the ill timing of the Democrats against them at the ballot box, but confirming a nominee without further investigation and interviews will do harm to the Court. It appears to demonstrate a disinterest in gathering all possible information and will discourage others from coming forward. It is, in a word, silencing.
It is wrong to prioritize punishing Democrats (even those who would have already been voting no) over insuring public confidence in our courts. That has been signaled as the motivation for doing the vote now, and the GOP has a higher responsibility as the party in power.
I grew up in Decatur, Georgia - where the city motto was "A City of Homes, Schools and Churches." Besides my grandfather's pastorate in Thomaston, all of the churches of meaning for me in childhood were in Decatur:
Clairemont Hills Baptist, where my boy scout troop met. The Episcopal Church of the Epiphany and St. Thomas More Catholic church.
Decatur First United Methodist, where I went to "Parent's Morning Out" and then preschool (taught by some mothers of classmates). I still recall the fear when I lost track of time and lost left outside during recess while in the tire swing. I found my way back in and some adults got me back to my teacher. I remember the morning routine of getting dropped off and going inside the preschool, along with the cubbies for our bags.
Decatur First Presbyterian, where my great grandfather and great aunts/uncles were longtime members. Our family used to host our holiday gathering in their fellowship hall each year, where my great aunt would ask my dad to MC.
North Decatur Presbyterian, a church my grandfather helped to plant and foster, where my dad was in boy scouts. I came here for events with my cousins and grandparents; these days my visits are typically for funerals. Previous pastors knew my college chaplain.
Decatur Friends Meeting, my father's spiritual home throughout childhood. I remember the smell of the library, the size of the worship space, the pipe cleaners my dad let us play with to keep quiet, the playground, the giant kudzu patch behind the church, and the culvert up to the parking lot. The Friends Meeting is also where I learned about adopted kids, and that children don't have to look like their parents.
And Oakhurst, my church.
In childhood, Oakhurst was my impression of what all churches were like. Walking into the main doors in the back of the building and up some stairs, you'd reach a large foyer with the fellowship hall to the left, as well as a staircase (reached by ascending three other steps). Walking straight ahead, and up a few stairs, you'd be below the sanctuary, with various sunday school or extended session classrooms and the choir room, where I did Children's Choir all through elementary school. I learned patience standing on those risers, and managed to memorize enough lines and music to pay Saint Francis in a church musical. There was a playground at the side of the church that I don't recall much about.
On the second floor, you'd enter the building on a "bridge" over the light well, go up some stairs, then down two stairs, and you'd be in the floor of the church offices and library - with doors to get into the back of the sanctuary or a staircase after three steps up.
I mention all of this to say, it wasn't very handicap accessible, and it was good to build a new secondary building in my youth.
I remember sitting on the floor, facing backward onto the pew, playing with quiet toys during services, then being dismissed to extended session. The first year I "aged out" of extended session, I remember consciously wanting to act like an adult and stop playing with toys. I therefore taught myself how to wink in church over several Sundays.
I remember going to youth sunday school after the new building was completed, in the basement, and learning about the historical bible, which fascinated me - especially the idea of the "Q" book that textual analysis tells us acted as an ancestor to Matthew and Luke, alongside Mark.
I remember Monday Night Youth Group, which met in the homes of young adults in the Atlanta area. I am so grateful to those adults for providing us guidance and role modeling what kind of people we could grow into being.
And then, I remember learning about Okahurst's history. It turned out that Oakhurst was special, because most churches in the south didn't stick around when the neighborhood changed, and Oakhurst had been almost entirely black for decades. Most churches didn't have black and white members worshipping together. This history is chronicled in The Turning Point, a film about Oakhurst's choice to remain in Decatur as white flight rapidly changed the composition of the neighborhood.
Most churches didn't have someone like Jim Brooks to bless the babies (see 0:47 here) or folks like Annie Harper, who brought her beloved daughter Ernestine most Sundays. Oakhurst helped me meet folks with all sorts of disabilities and learn about their lives as we welcomed them (and still welcome them).
Most churches don't turn away a child seeking to be baptized because they don't think the child understands the decision he's making. Oakhurst did. Oakhurst sought and drew out that questioning - pulling on me to understand what I thought about the world. Oakhurst helped me to discern that my baptism in the Presbyterian Church mattered, though I don't think its the best spiritual practice.
I have been to Orthodox, Catholic, American Anglican, Congregationalist, Episcopal, Methodist, Presbyterian, Calvanist, Quaker, LDS, Lutheran, Pentacostal, UCC, and Unitarian churches, but after all of that listening, I am and will always be a Child of Oakhurst, so grateful to those who came before and showed me the way.
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