As a positive example, reporter Ali Latifi offers the , for which Basij-Rasikh serves on the board of advisors (his sister Shabana, a senior at Middlebury College, is the organization’s executive director).

Basij-Rasikh tells Latifi that the millions of Afghans under the age of 25 need someone to tell them “you’re Afghan, you’re young, you have this potential. Now get up and do something” for your country.

At 乐播传媒, Basij-Rasikh won a to support his project to empower people disabled by land mines in Afghanistan.

The disempowerment of the youth of Afghanistan is a product of the on-going conflict, Basij-Rasikh says, adding that it’s crucial that young Afghan leaders who grew up in conflict be the ones to tell other young people of Afghanistan “that people can bring change on a very small scale” regardless of their position in society or their place in the political structure.

That was seven months ago. Or, as Cummings might say, 319,000 free throws ago.

Cummings, of Epsom, N.H., is on a quest to make one million basketball free throws, his way of expressing support for U.S. military personnel. Specifically, he’s raising awareness and money for the for injured veterans.

As of May 9, Cummings and his is at 779,507. But who’s counting? Well, everyone’s counting.

Cummings (whose father is 1,000-point 乐播传媒 scorer Seth Cummings ’65 and mother is Linda Cummings Messer ’65) has made free throws in his driveway in all kinds of weather and in dozens of gyms on the U.S. mainland and on Nantucket.

He’s been interviewed by print, TV and radio news outlets, tossed free throws on the set of the Mike Huckabee TV show and on the TD Garden’s famed parquet floor , and got jockeys’ help while tossing free throws at Saratoga Race Course.

Cummings has made an average of 1,370 free throws per day since launching the Hoops For Heroes initiative on Veterans Day 2009. His plan is to sink the millionth on Veterans Day at the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass.

In March, he made his 700,000th as a guest member of the Washington Generals, the foils of the Harlem Globetrotters. After missing the first of two foul shots, “Big Easy” Lofton handed Cummings the ball, saying, “Don’t be nervous. Everybody’s watching.”

Lofton then deployed an ageless Globetrotter gag, giving Cummings a wedgie. As , “I readjusted the wedgie, dribbled twice, heard the announcer say, ‘For 700,000 made…’ and then floated one in. And that was it. To the bench I went.”

Explaining to USA Today how he got started, Cummings says that a line from President Obama’s inauguration speech hit him hard: “As much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies.”

Three nights later, Cummings said this his video camera, “Tonight, I’m gonna start making some foul shots. I hope I can make a million of them and raise some money for the people overseas fighting for us. … I’m sorry I haven’t been able to do more in my life, but I think it’s time to do something. So I’m going to start.”

Stories:

The Portland Press Herald reviews A Rope and a Prayer, the book by David Rohde ’89 that tells of his capture by the Taliban in Afghanistan in November 2008. The harrowing story begins when a Taliban commander proffers an interview invitation to Rohde, a New York Times correspondent. “I knew meeting with the Taliban was perilous,” Rohde writes. But he told himself “not to be a coward, that the interview is a risk worth taking…. Many other journalists have done the same thing.”

But Rohde and his companions are captured, beginning seven months of captivity during which their captors demand a $5-million ransom and the release of Taliban prisoners. The book, co-written by Rohde’s wife,聽Kristen Mulvihill, also illuminates U.S. efforts to free the captives, with a domestic cast of characters including The New York Times legal counsel, the FBI, an Irish national with Taliban contacts, Hillary Clinton, Gen. David Petraeus and the late diplomat Richard Holbrooke.

Rohde eventually escaped on foot. A member of the 乐播传媒 Class of 1989, Rohde completed his studies at Brown University.

乐播传媒, Colby and Bowdoin have focused their traditional rivalries on a good cause.

The three schools are vying to see which can gather the most donated textbooks for donation to the Polytechnic University of Kabul, in Afghanistan.

Kabul native Mustafa Basij-Rasikh ’12 launched the project with the help of alums from the colleges.

The Polytechnic University of Kabul, the second largest university in the city, was established in 1963. Years of war have left the institution’s facilities damaged and its libraries critically short of English literature and textbooks.

鈥淭he shortage is mostly due to much turbulent conflict and constant upheavals over the last three decades,鈥� noted Basij-Rasikh, 鈥渂ut there is also a shortage of government and international attention to the university. Most textbooks date to the 1970s and 1980s.

“It is also now important that the students become better English speakers.鈥�

乐播传媒 alum Chris Robinson 鈥�07 and other patrons have promised to pick up the shipping cost if the contest accumulates over 500 books.

Although science textbooks are preferred, any type of book will be appreciated.

Collection boxes are dispersed around campus. Stations are set up in the Chase Hall outside of the bookstore, in Pettengill, Ladd Library and New Commons in the Fireplace Lounge.

Ending Friday, May 28, the drive is sponsored by Students for Peace and Justice in Palestine, Bridges for Peace and the Helen and George Ladd Library. For more information contact this mbasijra@bates.edu.

Mustafa Basij-Rasikh 鈥�12 poses with Jared Golden 鈥�11. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/乐播传媒 College)

A Kabul resident and a Marine veteran agree that education is key for Afghanistan 鈥� and for Americans who want to help

By Doug Hubley

Back home in Afghanistan last summer, Mustafa Basij-Rasikh 鈥�12 found that 鈥渄emocracy鈥� means different things to different people.

Not always good things.

After decades of having democracy defined for them by such champions of the concept as the Soviets and the Taliban, many Afghans harbor 鈥渢his preconceived notion, orally passed from generation to generation, that democracy is not good,鈥� says Basij-Rasikh, who worked for an organization providing civic education programs.

鈥淧eople hold on to that. And that just comes back to lack of education.鈥�

But similarly, Basij-Rasikh and his good friend, Jared Golden 鈥�11, a Marine veteran who served in Afghanistan, also see how the American perception of Afghanistan is defined more by what we don鈥檛 know than what we do.

鈥淲hat鈥檚 missing from the equation is an effort to really understand Afghans and listen to them,鈥� says Golden. 鈥淲e love the quick fix and the quick answer. And it鈥檚 not that simple.鈥�

“The only factor that can overcome adversity in a country is education.鈥�

The College鈥檚 first Afghan student since at least 1984, Basij-Rasikh comes from a country where more than 70 percent of the population is illiterate. Yet this Kabul resident is a scion of what he terms 鈥渁n unusual liberal family鈥� that鈥檚 not only willing, as many Afghans are, but able to give its children good educations.

Three sisters are also studying in the United States. 鈥淢y upbringing always reinforced this notion that the only factor that can overcome adversity in a country is education,鈥� says Mustafa, a 21-year-old politics major. 鈥淚 have a dream that my generation will be the generation who will solve the ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan.鈥�

His dream is all the more moving because Basij-Rasikh and other Afghan students in the U.S. are supported by the Peter M. Goodrich Memorial Foundation, founded by Sally and Don Goodrich, whose son Peter 鈥�89 died in the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. And for all concerned, Mustafa鈥檚 presence at 乐播传媒 seems to personify Peter鈥檚 legacy.

Golden, meanwhile, grew up in Leeds, a town near 乐播传媒, but applied here only after his Marine Corps service, which took him to Afghanistan in 2004 and Iraq in 2005鈥�06. An infantryman, he spent much of his Afghanistan tour in Kunar province, a hotbed of insurgent activity.

鈥淔our years in the Marines was enough to make me realize the importance of education, and I just love it,鈥� says the 27-year-old Golden. Coming from homes 6,500 miles apart, the Afghan student and the American student of Afghanistan have arrived at much the same place in their thinking about education鈥檚 role in rebuilding that country. But for a deeply conservative nation, after three decades of war, education is by no means a given.

鈥淧eople are more familiar with the gun than the pen,鈥� says Basij-Rasikh. 鈥淪ome people are making a life of this war because they are good at that. And if you are good at that you鈥檙e not going to give it away unless somebody gives you an alternative.鈥�

The alternative of universal education could provide ethnically diverse, tribally oriented Afghanistan with common principles to rally around, says Don Goodrich. Especially in rural areas, the Taliban have exploited people鈥檚 piety by imposing a politicized interpretation of Islam. With universal education, says Basij-Rasikh, 鈥減eople who manipulate Islam would no longer be effective, because everybody could read, everybody could write, everybody could think critically and they would question them.鈥�

鈥淯ltimately education is everything in Afghanistan,鈥� agrees Golden. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 likely to change the situation in Afghanistan in the long run much more than war can.鈥� He adds, 鈥淭heir younger generation now is a big sponge 鈥� they just want to suck up education, they love it.鈥�

Here at 乐播传媒, Basij-Rasikh and Golden have also found some teachable moments as they鈥檝e encountered stereotyped beliefs about both Afghans and the Americans involved in their country. Golden rejects such stereotyping. To him, 鈥渁ll people should be understood and approached as individuals.鈥�

鈥淕et as many different perspectives as possible. Don鈥檛 just jump on a bandwagon or make assumptions.鈥�

He adds, 鈥淚鈥檓 really always trying to paint the picture from both angles. I can see Afghans who do appreciate our being there, who feel better that the Taliban no longer runs their area or who love the fact that their child is going to school. And I can also see that that same family has lost five or six family members to U.S. air support.鈥�

He adds that at 乐播传媒, 鈥渟ome people, I鈥檓 happy to say, don鈥檛 really associate me with my military experience anymore.鈥�

Drawn together by their common ties to Afghanistan, Golden and Basij-Rasikh have much else in common. Among other things, Golden jokes, 鈥渨e like food and are both good at spending money.鈥� More seriously, 鈥渨e are both big thinkers and share similarly ambitious goals and dreams. And I believe we share similar values and ethics.鈥�

Summer 2009 found them both contributing to education in Afghanistan, Basij-Rasikh with the NGO Counterpart International, and Golden in Kabul with the School of Leadership, Afghanistan, or SOLA (Pashto for 鈥減eace鈥�), which receives support from the Goodrich Foundation. Both hope to return this summer: Golden to work for a shipping company and Basij-Rasikh to pilot a program offering occupational support to people disabled by landmines.

鈥淚 can鈥檛 tell people what鈥檚 necessarily right or wrong in Afghanistan,鈥� Golden says. 鈥淵ou have to do your research and get as many different perspectives as possible. Don鈥檛 just jump on a bandwagon or make assumptions.

鈥淚鈥檓 just trying to go there and find ways to make a small difference.鈥�

The many signs of war鈥檚 long presence in and around Kabul include this derelict T-54A Russian tank on a hill outside Istalif, on which Meharry stands with friends. Photograph by Lee Saunders.

Meharry鈥檚 travels included a visit to the village of Istalif, about 32 kilometers outside Kabul, noted for its handmade glazed pottery.

This view of Babur's Garden shows the modern settlements on the hillside above.

Meharry, visiting the ancient city walls high above Kabul, looks down on the city and Babur's Garden below.

At the National Museum, Joanie Meharry poses with a tahilwidar, or keyholder. Traditionally, an Afghan museum keyholder secures artwork by locking, papering, and sealing objects in their cases, then having witnesses sign the sealed paper. Photograph by Jake Simkins.

A day in the life of an American scholar researching the history of the National Museum of Afghanistan reveals past, present, and uncertain future

By Joanie Meharry ’07

In the summer the war was always there, but we didn鈥檛 see much sign of it. The stories being reported back home about Afghanistan were macabre accounts from Kandahar to the south and Khost further to the east. In Kabul it was warm and pleasant. Hides hung outside the shops, and there was always the smell of raw meat and baked naan. Sometimes the troops moved through the streets, and with the cars and the mule carts, they stirred the dust so that a thin layer settled on the city.

But on a day in late August, in the dim hours of the morning as I lay beneath my mosquito net, I woke to a phone call about news of a rocket attack in the city. The presidential election was only a few days away, and no one knew what to expect, though people feared that there would be riots like after the previous election.

The electricity was out, and instead of turning on the generator, I dressed, crossed the street to buy mangoes, and returned and sat in my rose garden to eat breakfast. I was scheduled for an interview with another staff member of the in an hour, but the phone networks were down and I wasn鈥檛 able to reach the number for a secure taxi service. I redialed and heard ringing as two military helicopters flew overhead. My two dogs warned them to stay away.

This area marked the brutal front line during the 1992鈥�96 phase of the Afghanistan civil war, but signs still survive of its former glory.

An hour later, under a clear blue sky, my taxi drove down Darulaman Road, the long and wide stretch of open road leading to the National Museum. When the British travel writer Robert Byron visited Kabul in the 1930s, he described the poplar-lined strip as 鈥渙ne of the most beautiful avenues in the world.鈥� This area, about nine kilometers southwest of the capital, marked the brutal front line during the 1992鈥�96 phase of the Afghanistan civil war, but signs still survive of its former glory. The dirt road leads to the skeleton of Darulaman Palace, a neoclassical design from the 1920s that sustained repeated rocket fire during the civil war. The palace, which looks north toward the mountain range surrounding Kabul, catches the morning sun.

Across the road from the Darulaman Palace sits the museum, and the guards grinned as they saw the car pull up. I owed them photos of themselves posing with their AK-47s. The desk clerk also smiled and greeted me with 鈥淪alaam, Joanie jan,鈥� a sign of respect I returned in kind as I continued up the marble stairs inside the main entrance.

It was apparent that there was much he was not comfortable saying.

The interview was held in a small office with a single window, and it was evident from the papers scattered on the staff member鈥檚 desk that it was work as usual at the museum despite the earlier attack. An attendant brought cups of tea, and as she poured I smoothed my hair beneath my silk scarf.

I began the interview as I did with all the members of the museum. I explained that my work was to record the museum鈥檚 recent history for my master鈥檚 dissertation with the University of Edinburgh and a publication with the Aga Khan Trust for Culture. Deep wrinkles creased the staff member鈥檚 forehead as he spoke about the museum-wide concern about security and the possibility that the political groups who were involved in the destruction of the museum and its priceless collections, which had dated back thousands of years, could one day return to power.

But mostly we talked about the past. For the next three hours in the dark office, the staff member recounted the days when the museum was rocketed daily, antiquities were looted by various mujahideen groups, and the museum staff was incapable of coming to work. After the Taliban came to power in 1996, he and other staff members were permitted to catalogue the remaining collection and to make repairs to the museum. But then, in 2001, the extremist strand of the Taliban began to target the country鈥檚 pre-Islamic statues, such as the Buddhas of Bamiyan, which were dynamited in 2001. At the museum, the Taliban destroyed pre-Islamic statues that had survived previous looting and destruction.

Toward the end of the interview, he leaned forward and talked into the Dictaphone about protecting the collections from the Taliban, though it was apparent that there was much he was not comfortable saying.
During the 1990s phase of the civil war, many priceless artifacts were either smuggled into Pakistan or wound up in the local bazaars, and after the interview at the museum I decided to head to one such market. Along the drive I looked out my window at the small rolling hills that subdivide the valley city of Kabul. As families have returned after the Taliban, tightly clustered homes have been built further up these hillsides.

I wondered whether I would be prepared to say goodbye to the city when my work was finished.

Just beneath one of these modern hillside settlements is Babur鈥檚 Garden, a public garden where Afghans and expats picnic on the weekends and where the 16th-century Emperor Babur is entombed. In his memoir, the Baburnama, the emperor wrote that he admired the location for its scenery, gardens, orchards, and semi-arid climate. 鈥淲ithin a day鈥檚 ride it is possible to reach a place where snow never falls,鈥� he wrote. 鈥淏ut within two hours one can go where the snows never melt.鈥� I looked out at Babur鈥檚 Garden and wondered whether I would be prepared to say goodbye to the city when my work was finished.

The taxi dropped me off near the intersection at Chicken Street, and a swarm of little boys and girls greeted me with wide smiles and open hands. The street was crowded with hungry children, men laughing and holding hands, women in flowing burqas, and amputees leaning against buildings. As I wandered down the market, the windows brimmed with very old and very beautiful objects: carpets, woodwork, large lumps of lapis lazuli, Turkoman jewelry, and coins that looked strikingly similar to the ones that were looted from archaeological sites and museums.

鈥淲here are you from?鈥� an Afghan in his 20s called out from a doorway. 鈥淚nglestan?鈥� 鈥淣o,鈥� I replied, 鈥淎merica.鈥� 鈥淕ood, United States,鈥� he said in broken English with a smile. I agreed, relieved by his response. His shop was filled with embroidered scarves, and we haggled over two until I was satisfied I was not being entirely cheated. He looked pleased, and we said our goodbyes. Outside the shop a gang of green-eyed boys offered their services as 鈥渂odyguards鈥� for a fee. The smell of fresh naan drifted from nearby, and with a couple of these unpaid lads in tow, I made my way on foot to one of the local caf茅s.

The caf茅 was quiet, though there were days when you entered and recognized everyone in the crowded room 鈥� Kabul is home to a small and close community of devoted NGO workers and journalists. When the waiter arrived he asked whether I wanted my usual cappuccino and apple pie. At the next table a French couple talked about the attack from that morning. They predicted that things were changing for the worse in Kabul, and life there would not be the same.

After they left and the air began to cool, I penned a letter that I would later e-mail to my family. As with all my writing now, even this informal prose was written carefully. Working in a war zone, you quickly learn to protect your thoughts and ideas, and to let nothing circulate that is not your own. This vigilance is particularly owed to the Afghans, who have endured hardships for 30 years, and this vigilance is particularly essential when the subject is often the Taliban.

In the letter, I told my family about a trip I took the previous weekend to Istalif 鈥� a village an hour north of the city 鈥� and the river, the mulberry trees, and the pottery. I told them about the walk along the city walls and the views from there of the lake and Babur鈥檚 Garden. I explained the history of the museum and the rare antiquities that it once housed, including the , a treasure hoard that was successfully hidden from looters during the civil war in the 1990s.

If my family only reads about rocket attacks, it would be like admiring a shattered statue by gazing at its broken pieces. I wanted them to also know the stories about Afghanistan from the days when there was no news to report.

Joanie Meharry 鈥�07 majored in political science at 乐播传媒. She is now in the United States completing her master鈥檚 dissertation, after which she will return to work in Kabul. She recommends about life in Kabul.

Two 乐播传媒 College students have received 2010 Davis Projects for Peace awards to fund development initiatives in Zambia and Afghanistan.

Mustafa Basij-Rasikh, a sophomore from Kabul, Afghanistan, and Chomba Kaluba, senior from Mpika, Zambia, each received a $7,250 grant. The money will support Basij-Rasikh’s project for empowering people disabled by land mines in Afghanistan, and Kaluba’s literary and microfinance programs for development in rural Zambia.
The projects reflect the importance of economic opportunity to a stable society. As Kaluba wrote in his Projects for Peace proposal, “The dissatisfaction of one sector of a society with the unequal access to opportunity and prosperity is always cause for unrest and violence.”

Their projects are among more than 100 initiatives supported by the Projects for Peace program. At the age of 103, founder and philanthropist Kathryn W. Davis funds the program to encourage college students to undertake innovative, meaningful projects that promote peace in the world.

Beginning with the Soviet invasion in 1979, unceasing conflict has made Afghanistan one of the world’s most heavily mined countries. An average of 40 Afghans are killed or maimed by mine explosions each month. Basij-Rasikh, who has witnessed firsthand the devastation wrought by mines, designed a project to help reintegrate mine victims into society.

See a video about Chomba Kaluba ’10.

Victims are often among the most marginalized because of pre-existing poverty, gender discrimination and the social stigma attached to disabilities. Often they were the sole breadwinners for their families before they were injured. “I feel I must help them,” says Basij-Rasikh.

He will supply tricycles and carts to mine victims, train these individuals to repair and use them, and provide small grants to begin a business. The tricycles will promote independence by affording mobility, and the carts will serve as stands for selling goods such as vegetables, fruit or clothing.

Basij-Rasikh will undertake the work in the provinces of Kabul, Herat, Parwan, Bulkh and Nangarhar. These provinces are home to many of Afghanistan’s disabled people and have many paved roads, which provide easier transportation and a better market for the disabled to sell their goods.

The Davis grant will allow Basij-Rasikh to purchase parts for tricycles and carts, hire assistants and give startup financing for mine victims. As he puts it, “With a little money and a tricycle, a disabled person can start an independent and prosperous life.”

Kaluba also feels a strong personal connection to his project. He seeks to promote peace in rural communities in Zambia through empowerment programs. There are two parts to his project: a microfinancing initiative using livestock and a literacy initiative.

The microfinance element focuses on goats as an income source. Goat meat is popular in Zambia and goats are a good source of income and protein. Goats will be provided to impoverished households and volunteers will teach recipients how to make best use of them. Participants will be required to give the first offspring of their goats to another family in need, form registered associations and establish banking systems.

With formal education out of reach for many Zambians, the second part focuses on improving literacy through the Kachlite Foundation, which Kaluba founded and directs. Volunteers will facilitate study circles with members of the community. Materials for this project will be donated by the Zambian Ministry of Education in Mpika, along with book donations from Maine. The rest of the supplies will be funded by the Davis grant.

This is not Kaluba’s first initiative in these fields. In 2008 he shared a Projects for Peace grant with two other 乐播传媒 students to create a community garden in Tanzania that offers street children a survival alternative to a pervasive sex-for-food trade. In 2009 Kaluba received a 乐播传媒 College Philips Fellowship grant supporting a project in Guatemala that promoted the making of salable art to fight poverty.

乐播传媒 students have won a award every year since the program’s inception, in 2007. .

Hosted by the New World Coalition, a 乐播传媒 student organization that focuses on social justice and community activism, this event is free and open to the public. Following the panel, guests will have an opportunity to converse with the panelists and enjoy refreshments.The organizers see this panel as an effort to offer insights about the situation in Afghanistan. The panel will include three 乐播传媒 College students, each offering a unique perspective. Jared Golden, a junior from Leeds, is a Marine veteran who served in Iraq and Afghanistan before coming to 乐播传媒. A history and politics major, he returned to Afghanistan last summer to teach school.

Mustafa Basij-Rasikh, a sophomore majoring in politics and economics, came to 乐播传媒 from Kabul, Afghanistan. He is one of several siblings studying in the U.S. who plan to return to Afghanistan to help restore their war-torn nation. Their supporters include Sally and Don Goodrich, whose son Peter, a member of the 乐播传媒 class of 1989, died in the Sept. 11 attacks.

The panel will also include 乐播传媒 College politics professor Eric Hooglund. Hooglund’s background includes 30 years of research, teaching and writing about the domestic politics and international relations of countries in the Middle East, particularly Iran, and of U.S. foreign policy toward the region.

Hooglund sees his classroom as a forum in which students can confront stereotypes of a region too often portrayed, especially in the media, as a potentially threatening monolith.

The fifth member of the panel is Mark Roman, who was a founding member of Waterville Area Bridges for Peace and Justice and is a member of CODEPINK Maine, the state branch of a national peace and social justice movement. Roman’s particular interest is the use of unmanned aerial vehicles in the conflict.