In old Jakarta, Arab mosque stands witness to cosmopolitan past
Unlike most historical structures in Jakarta, Langgar Tinggi retains its original form
Its architecture is a mix of Arab, European, Chinese and Javanese influences
Updated 17 May 2023
YUDHA BASKORO
JAKARTA: When merchants from the Arabian Peninsula began to settle in Batavia in the late 18th century, most of them would stay in Pekojan, a neighborhood which some members of the community still see as its beating heart.
Batavia was the main city of the Dutch East Indies and corresponds to the present-day capital of Indonesia, Jakarta. Dutch colonial rulers were very particular about implementing racial division and different ethnic groups were also required to live in specific areas.
Pekojan was one of such areas — a witness to segregation, but also to the nature of the Arab community, which was able to transcend it and embrace various multicultural influences of its new home. Living evidence of this is the eclectic style of Langgar Tinggi, one of the oldest mosques in Jakarta and the Arab neighborhood’s landmark building.
Unlike most historical structures in Jakarta, the mosque built nearly 200 years ago has retained its original form.
“Look at this building, from 1828 until now, it is still strong and intact ... This mosque is still original and has not been changed since it was built. We don’t want it to be changed,” Langgar Tinggi caretaker Achmad Alwi Assegaf told Arab News.
The two-story mosque was built by Abubakar Shihab, a Muslim trader from Yemen, on land donated by a prominent merchant family from South Arabia.
In those times, many wealthy traders of Arab descent who lived in Southeast Asia would fund religious or community facilities for Muslims in countries colonized by non-Muslim European powers.
“These were the blessings of the past generations ... They built mosques, prayer rooms, and funded celebrations of Islamic holidays so the people in Pekojan observed them like in Yemen,” said Assegaf, whose own family arrived in Batavia from Yemen seven generations ago.
The old community had also adapted to the different lifestyles of its neighbors — the Chinese, Europeans, and local indigenous groups.
The mosque’s wooden elements, red roofing tiles, and white walls do not immediately resemble the standard image of a mosque. A closer look shows a mix of architectural traditions that contributed to its shape.
Its pillars were inspired by Portuguese architecture, which was trending at the time, Assegaf said. Its doors and windows and support beams incorporate Chinese building tradition, while the style of the structure’s base was common across Java.
“There was fusion. It is visible in Langgar Tinggi that is not just the architecture of Arabs but of all those with whom we had traded and lived together,” Assegaf said.
Over decades, Pekojan has lost many of its original inhabitants. Wealthier ones have moved to other parts of Jakarta and many of the neighborhood’s original buildings have become dilapidated.
Abu Sulthan, a livestock trader remained in Pekojan as his family has been living there since 1910. But he has been observing how the neighborhood’s uniqueness was slowly fading.
“There used to be a lot of Arabs here. There used to be a lot of traders,” he said. “It is still known as (an) Arab neighborhood, but many have already moved out.”
The one who against all odds remains hopeful that the lost glory would return is the Langgar Tinggi caretaker who insists that Pekojan still serves as reference for Arab culture.
“The culture of Yemen has always been upheld in Pekojan,” Assegaf said, citing the neighborhood’s culinary tradition and giving examples of authentic Arab dishes that are served at local eateries.
“Hotel chefs also learn (to cook) here,” he said. “The unique identity is still alive.”
Ukraine to launch joint weapons production with US
Updated 7 sec ago
KYIV: Ukraine and the United States have agreed to launch joint weapons production in a step that will enable Kyiv to start producing air defense systems, President Volodymyr Zelensky said on Friday as he wrapped up a visit to the US In his daily address to Ukrainians, Zelensky said the long-term agreement would create jobs and a new industrial base in Ukraine, whose economy has been devastated by Russia’s invasion and war. “It was a very important visit to Washington, very important results,” Zelensky said in a video posted on the presidential website on Friday morning. “And a long-term agreement — we will work together so that Ukraine produces the necessary weapons together with the United States. Co-production in the defense (sector) with the United States is a historic thing.” Kyiv has stepped up efforts to boost domestic weapons production as much as possible because 19 months of war has created a huge demand for arms and ammunition to fend off Russian attacks along a 1,000 km (620 mile) front line. Russian air strikes across Ukraine have caused widespread damage and killed many people. Zelensky said the Ministry for Strategic Industries, which oversees weapons production in Ukraine, had signed cooperation agreements with three associations, uniting over 2,000 defense US companies, on future possible work in Ukraine. “We are preparing to create a new defense ecosystem with the United States to produce weapons to strengthen further freedom and protect life together,” Zelensky said without disclosing more details. Ukraine depends heavily on Western military support. To reduce its dependence, Zelensky and his team have been pushing for reforms in the domestic defense industry to modernize local producers and increase supplies to the front. Zelensky has said previously that Kyiv will soon host an international arms production forum, inviting companies from over 20 countries. The government is also implementing reforms at its main weapons production company — Ukroboronprom — to improve transparency, boost production capacity and enable it to cooperate more actively with Western producers. Ukraine has already agreed several joint projects with central European producers to repair Ukrainian tanks and other vehicles, and has been working to develop drone and missile production.
Armenia slams UN Security Council for failure to prevent Azerbaijan ‘invasion’ of Nagorno-Karabakh
Foreign Minister Ararat Mirzoyan addresses a special council session two days after Azerbaijan launched a military offensive in the region
Baku describes the deployment as an “antiterrorist” operation after 2 civilians and 4 police officers were killed by landmines allegedly placed by Armenian armed forces
Updated 10 min ago
Alex Whiteman
NEW YORK: Armenia’s foreign minister has condemned the UN Security Council for failing to prevent what he described as the beginning of ethnic cleansing of Armenian populations by Azerbaijani forces in the mountainous Nagorno-Karabakh region.
Ararat Mirzoyan’s comments came on Thursday as he addressed a special session of the Security Council, on the sidelines of the 78th session of the UN General Assembly, two days after Azerbaijan launched a military offensive in the region that its Defense Ministry described as an “antiterrorist” operation. It followed the deaths of two civilians and four police officers in incidents involving landmines allegedly placed by Armenian armed forces.
Challenging the assertion by Azerbaijani authorities that the aim of the operation is to combat terrorism, Mirzoyan said it was a “large-scale invasion … in blatant violation of international law” that has left hundreds of ethnic Armenians dead, injured or missing.
He added: “The intensity and cruelty of the offensive makes it clear that the intention is to finalize ethnic cleansing of the Armenian population of Nagorno-Karabakh. Outcomes of this large-scale military operation clearly revealed the atrocious nature.
“There were clear signs this was coming and we have been raising the alarm about it for a long time now, but the international community refused to take it seriously.”
Internationally recognized as part of Azerbaijan, Nagorno-Karabakh is an ethnic Armenian enclave that has long sought independence from its parent state, sparking two wars between Armenia and Azerbaijan since the 1990s.
Azerbaijan seemingly scored a decisive victory in the second of those conflicts, in 2020, when it regained control of the region, before a Russian-brokered ceasefire paused hostilities. In May this year, Armenia’s Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan conceded that Nagorno-Karabakh was part of Azerbaijan and recognized its sovereignty there.
In December last year, government-backed Azerbaijani protesters blocked the only road connecting the enclave with Armenia, preventing food and other essentials items from reaching the region and causing causing what the UN described as a humanitarian crisis.
In response to this, the International Court of Justice issued a preliminary ruling ordering the government to “ensure unimpeded movement” on the roads.
Mirzoyan told the Security Council: “This council, as an august body meant to ensure the implementation of court orders, failed to react adequately when the International Court of Justice adopted legally binding orders and they were disrespected by Azerbaijan.
“When in April, Azerbaijan installed illegal checkpoints and later started to kidnap people, the international community again failed to undertake adequate measures. When Armenia raised the alarm, the international community reacted to our warnings with skepticism.”
Azerbaijan’s foreign minister, Jeyhun Bayramov, told council members that the Armenian perspective on events was in defiance of the UN’s own principles of respect of sovereignty and territorial integrity.
The UK’s minister of state for the Middle East, North Africa, South Asia and the UN at the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office, Tariq Ahmad, called for a halt to all military action and a return to the negotiating table, and urged the UN to support efforts to address the immediate humanitarian needs in the region.
“While we fully recognize issues of sovereignty and territorial integrity, military might cannot be used to resolve tensions between communities,” he said. “Direct dialogue is the only way to find genuine, sustainable peace, genuine sustainable solutions.
“It is therefore now vital that talks resume with representatives of the Armenians on the basis of a credible plan to ensure the rights and security of everyone in the region, and to allow them to live in peace.”
UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres called for strict observation of the 2020 ceasefire agreement. Miroslav Jenca, the assistant secretary-general for Europe, Central Asia and Americas at the UN Department of Political Affairs, highlighted the need to protect the civilian population of the region and said that ensuring their essential needs are met, including the preservation of their human rights, is the overriding priority.
“A genuine dialogue between the government of Azerbaijan and representatives of the region, together with full engagement in the normalization process by Armenia and Azerbaijan, are the only sustainable way forward,” Jenca said.
Cyprus calls on EU to rethink Syrian safe zones for repatriating Syrian migrants
No other EU nation has taken a formal position on safe zone re-evaluation
Cyprus says its proximity to the region has made it prime destination for Syrian migrants
Updated 23 min 48 sec ago
AP
NICOSIA, Cyprus: Cyprus has formally called on the European Union to re-evaluate which areas of Syria can be declared safe and free from armed conflict so that Syrian migrants can eventually be repatriated there, the Cypriot Interior Ministry said Friday.
Interior Minister Constantinos Ioannou was the sole official to raise the issue during July’s informal gathering of his EU counterparts in Spain. No other EU nation has taken a formal position on safe zone re-evaluation, the Interior Ministry told The Associated Press.
Cyprus is fronting the re-evaluation bid because it says its proximity to the region has now made it a prime destination for Syrian migrants.
Ethnically divided Cyprus, with a population of nearly a million in the southern, internationally recognized part where migrants seek asylum, says migrants now comprise 6 percent of its population – much higher than the average in other EU member countries.
War-torn Syria has for the past 12 years has been designated as an unsafe country where indiscriminate violence poses a real risk to the safety of its citizens. The threat makes them eligible for international protection status which enables them to live and work in third countries.
The government of Cyprus is proposing that the EU initially re-examines whether conditions on the ground in Syria – or parts of the country – have changed enough for Syrians to be safely repatriated.
The practicalities of how such repatriations would take place could be decided at a later stage. One possibility would be to start repatriations of Syrians who hail from the declared safe zones, according to the Cypriot Interior Ministry.
Some 40 percent of 7,369 migrants who have applied for asylum in Cyprus in 2023 until the end of August are Syrians.
The European Union Agency for Asylum says there’s “no real risk” to civilians from indiscriminate violence in only one of Syria’s 13 regions – Tartus. In another four, including Latakia, Damascus, Homs and Quneitra, indiscriminate violence isn’t “at a high level.”
The United Nations refugee agency says it’s not currently either “facilitating or promoting refugee return” to Syria, noting that refugees have the right to return to their homeland “at a time of their own choosing.”
From an old-style Afghan camera, a new view of life under the Taliban emerges
Mamra-e-faoree, or instant camera, was a common sight on Afghan city streets in the last century
Tool of a bygone era, the box camera imparts a vintage, timeless quality to the images
Updated 30 min 55 sec ago
AP
KABUL, Afghanistan: The odd device draws curious onlookers everywhere. From the outside, it resembles little more than a large black box on a tripod. Inside lies its magic: a hand-made wooden camera and darkroom in one.
As a small crowd gathers around the box camera, images of beauty and of hardship ripple to life from its dark interior: a family enjoying an outing in a swan boat on a lake; child laborers toiling in brick factories; women erased by all-covering veils; armed young men with fire in their eyes.
Sitting for a portrait in a war-scarred Afghan village, a Taliban fighter remarks: “Life is much more joyful now.” For a young woman in the Afghan capital, forced out of education because of her gender, the opposite is true: “My life is like a prisoner, like a bird in a cage.”
The instrument used to record these moments is a kamra-e-faoree, or instant camera. They were a common sight on Afghan city streets in the last century — a fast and easy way to make portraits, especially for identity documents. Simple, cheap and portable, they endured amid half a century of dramatic changes in this country — from a monarchy to a communist takeover, from foreign invasions to insurgencies — until 21st-century digital technology rendered them obsolete.
Using this nearly disappeared homegrown art form to document life in post-war Afghanistan, from Herat in the west and Kandahar in the south to Kabul in the east and Bamiyan in the center, produced hundreds of black-and-white prints that reveal a complex, sometimes contradictory narrative.
Made over the course of a month, the images underscore how in the two years since US troops pulled out and the Taliban returned to power, life has changed dramatically for many Afghans — whereas for others, little has changed over the decades, regardless of who was in power.
A tool of a bygone era, the box camera imparts a vintage, timeless quality to the images, as if the country’s past is superimposed over its present, which in some respects, it is.
At first glance the faded black-and-white, sometimes slightly out-of-focus images convey an Afghanistan frozen in time. But that aesthetic is deceiving. These are reflections of the country very much as it is now.
AN UNEASY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE CAMERA
During their first stint in power from 1996 to 2001, the Taliban banned photography of humans and animals as contrary to the teachings of Islam. Many box cameras were smashed, though some were quietly tolerated, Afghan photographers say. But it was the advent of the digital age that sounded the device’s death knell.
Associated Press photographer Rodrigo Abd takes a portrait of a man and his pack animal with a wooden box camera in Bamiyan, Afghanistan, on June 16, 2023. (AP/File)
“These things are gone,” said Lutfullah Habibzadeh, 72, a former kamra-e-faoree photographer in Kabul. “Digital cameras are on the market, and (the old ones) are out of use.” Habibzadeh still has his old box camera, a relic of the last century passed down to him by his photographer father. It no longer works, but he has lovingly preserved its red leather coating, decorated with sample photos.
On Afghan city streets today, billboard advertisements have faces spray-painted out, and clothing store windows display mannequins with their heads wrapped in black plastic bags, to adhere to the renewed ban on the depictions of faces.
But the advent of the Internet age and of smartphones have made a ban on photography impossible to impose. The novel sight of an old box camera elicits excitement and curiosity – even among those who police the new rules. From foot soldiers to high-ranking officials, many Taliban were happy to pose for box camera portraits.
Associated Press photographer Rodrigo Abd takes a portrait of Lutfullah Habibzadeh, 72, who uses a similar wooden box camera, in Kabul, Afghanistan, on May 31, 2023. (AP/File)
Outside a warehouse in Kabul, a group of men watch intently as the camera is set up. At first, they seem shy. But as the first portraits emerge, curiosity overtakes their reservations. Soon, they’re smiling and joking as they wait to have their photos taken, pitching in to help when a black cloth backdrop slips off the wall. As each man steps forward for his portrait, set jaws replace tentative smiles. Adjusting their grip on their assault rifles, they look straight into the camera’s tiny lens and hold their poses.
Most of these men joined the Taliban as teenagers or in their early 20s and have known nothing but war. They were drawn to the fundamentalist movement because of their fervent Muslim faith – and their determination to expel US and NATO troops who invaded their country and propped up two decades of Afghan governments that failed to crack down on rampant corruption and crime.
Bahadur Rahaani, a 52-year-old Taliban member with piercing light blue eyes beneath his black turban, says he’s happy to see the Taliban back in power. With them in government, “Afghanistan will be rebuilt,” he says. “Without them, it is not possible.”
PEACE, AT A PRICE
Two years after Taliban militias swept across the country to seize power again, there are strong echoes of life as it was before US-led NATO forces toppled them from government in 2001.
Once more, the country is ruled by a fundamentalist movement that has restored many of the strict rules it imposed in the 1990s. The first Taliban regime was notorious for destroying art and cultural patrimony it deemed un-Islamic, such as the giant ancient buddhas carved into cliffs in Bamiyan. They imposed brutal punishments, chopping off hands of thieves, hanging supposed blasphemers in public squares and stoning women accused of adultery.
Once again, executions and lashings are back. Music, movies, dancing and performances are banned, and women are again excluded from nearly all public life, including education and all but a few professions.
The return to fundamentalist policies has chased away Western donors, aid workers and trade partners. Poverty has spiraled to crisis levels, fueled by the ban on women working, deep cuts in foreign aid and international sanctions. But there is nearly universal relief that the relentless bloodshed of the past four decades of invasions, multiple insurgencies and civil war has largely ceased.
There are still sporadic bombings, most attributed to enemies of the Taliban, the extremist group Islamic State-Khorasan Province, or IS-K. But Afghans interviewed say their country is more peaceful than they’ve known for decades.
The United Nations recorded 1,095 civilians killed in deliberate attacks between Aug. 15, 2021, when the Taliban reclaimed power, through May 30, 2023. That’s a fraction of the annual civilian death toll over two decades of war between US-led NATO forces and insurgents.
Even those who dislike the current regime say banditry, kidnapping and corruption, which were rampant under the previous governments, have been largely reined in.
But less crime and violence does not necessarily translate to prosperity and happiness.
WOMEN, ERASED
In a three-story building tucked in a Kabul alleyway, a group of women work silently at a loom. Zamarod’s hands move swiftly, nimble fingers flitting between strands of yarn as she knots colored wool around them, making a carpet. Her movements are rapid, almost brusque, but her voice is soft and sad. “My life is like a prisoner,” she says. “Like a bird in a cage.”
The 20-year-old had been studying computer science, but the Taliban banned women from universities before she could graduate. Now she and her 23-year-old sister work in a carpet factory, falling back on a skill their mother taught them as children. They are among very few women who can earn money outside the home and, like others, asked that only their first names be used for fear of retribution for speaking out.
Associated Press photographer Rodrigo Abd takes a portrait of a girl in a carpet factory, with a wooden box camera, in Kabul, Afghanistan, on May 29, 2023. (AP/File)
Women have experienced the starkest changes since the Taliban’s return. They must adhere to a strict dress code, are banned from most jobs and denied simple pleasures such as visiting a park or going to a restaurant. Girls can no longer attend school beyond sixth grade, and women must be escorted by a male relative to travel.
For all intents and purposes, women have been being erased from public life.
Even in this environment, Zamarod hasn’t given up on her dream of graduating. “We have to have hope. We hope that one day we will be free, that freedom is possible,” she says. “That’s why we live and breathe.”
In another room, 50-year-old Hakima is introducing her teenage daughter Freshta to weaving. It is their only way of eking out a living, though she still dreams her 16-year-old daughter will someday become a doctor. “Afghanistan has gone backwards,” she says, donning an all-encompassing burka to pose for a portrait. “People go door to door for a piece of bread and our children are dying.”
While the clock has turned back for women who’ve lost financial independence and a voice in public life and government, in conservative, tribal parts of the country, expectations for women have always been different and have changed little over the years — even during US and NATO military presence.
Even so, education is a priority for many Afghans. In dozens of interviews across the country, nearly everyone — including some members of the Taliban — said they wanted girls and women to be educated. Most said they believed the education ban was temporary, and that older girls would eventually be allowed back into schools. They say keeping girls and women confined at home doesn’t help the country, or its economy.
“We need doctors, teachers,” says Hajji Muhibullah Aloko, a 34-year-old teacher in the village of Tabin, west of Kandahar. Women must be educated “so that Afghanistan improves in every sector.”
The international community has withheld recognition of the Taliban and pressed its leadership to roll back their restrictions on women — to no avail.
“That is up to Afghans and not foreigners, they shouldn’t get involved,” Taliban government spokesman Zabiullah Mujahid says during an interview in Kandahar, the birthplace of the movement in southern Afghanistan and a stronghold of conservative values.
“We are waiting for the right moment regarding the schools. And while the schools are closed now, they won’t be forever,” he says. He won’t give a timeline but insists “the world shouldn’t use this as an excuse” not to recognize the Taliban government.
VICTORIOUS INSURGENTS
The village of Tabin lies deep in the Arghandab River valley, a fertile swath of fruit orchards and irrigation canals cutting through Kandahar Province’s dusty desert.
But around it, the remnants of war are everywhere. The derelict remains of American combat outposts have faded warnings of mines and grenades spraypainted on their wind-blown blast walls. Tangles of abandoned razor wire litter the ground. Bombed-out houses lie in ruins. And there’s the ubiquitous presence of armed young men adjusting from a life of fighting to one of living in peace.
The new jobs — policing streets, guarding buildings, collecting garbage — are the mundane, necessary tasks of governing. It’s less dramatic than waging war, but there is palpable relief to be free of the violence.
Without fear of airstrikes or bullets, children shriek in delight as they splash about in an irrigation canal, leaping into the murky water from a bridge.
“Life is much more joyful now. Before there used to be lots of brutality and aggression,” 28-year-old Abdul Halim Hilal says, sheltering from the blazing sun under a mulberry tree before posing for a portrait. “Innocent people would die. Villages were bombed. We couldn’t bear it.”
He joined the Taliban as a teenager, believing it was his moral duty to fight foreign troops. He lost as many as 20 friends to the war, and more were wounded. He’s stung by the memory of his dead brothers-in-arms when he sees their fatherless children, but he’s comforted by an unshakeable belief that their sacrifice was worth it.
“The ones that were killed were fighting to sacrifice themselves for the country,” he says. “It’s because of the blood they gave that we’re now here, giving interviews freely, and the Muslims here are living in peace.”
A villager walks by, glancing at the gaggle of curious children and adults gathered around the box camera. “It’s so strange,” he mutters. “We used to fight against these foreigners, and now they’re here taking pictures.”
Mujeeburahman Faqer, a 26-year-old Taliban fighter, now mans an uneventful security checkpoint in Kabul. Like many others, he’s struggling to adapt to a peacetime mentality, because all he’s ever known was war. “I had prepared my head for sacrifice,” he says, “and I am still ready.”
A FOUNDERING ECONOMY — AND A STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE
Security has improved since the end of the insurgency against US forces. But with peace came an economy in freefall.
When the Taliban seized power again in 2021, international donors withdrew funding, froze Afghan assets abroad, isolated its financial sector and imposed sanctions.
That squeeze, combined with the near-total ban on women working, has crippled the economy. Per capita income shrank by an estimated 30 percent last year compared to 2020, according to the United Nations Development Program.
Nearly half of Afghanistan’s 40 million people now face acute food insecurity, the UN’s World Food Program says. Malnutrition is above emergency thresholds in 25 of 34 provinces.
Struggling to survive is something Kasnia already knows at age 4. In a brick factory outside Kabul, she scoops out a chunk of mud with her tiny hands, kneading it until it is pliable enough for a brick mold. After countless repetitions, her movements are automatic. She works six days a week from sunrise until sunset, with brief breaks for breakfast and lunch, toiling next to her siblings and her father — one family among many in a sprawling factory where children become laborers at age 3.
“Everyone wishes that their children study and become teachers, doctors, engineers, and benefit the future of the country,” says her father, Wahidullah, 35, who goes by one name, as do his children.
Even with the entire family working, there’s often not enough money for food and they live hand to mouth on credit from shopkeepers. Of his three sons and three daughters, all except the youngest one are brickmakers.
“When I was young, my dream was to have a comfortable life, to have a nice office, to have a nice car, to go to parks, to travel around my country and abroad, to go to Europe,” he recalls. Instead, “I make bricks.” There is no bitterness in his voice, just acceptance of an inevitable fate.
Many Afghans have resorted to selling their belongings — everything from furniture to clothing and shoes — to survive.
When the Taliban banned movies, Nabi Attai had nothing to fall back on. In his 70s, the actor appeared in a dozen television series and 76 films, including the Golden Globe-winning 2003 movie “Osama.” Now he is destitute.
His home, tucked in a warren of steep alleys, is now nearly devoid of furniture, which he sold in the bazaar to feed his extended family. Sold, too, is his beloved TV.
After 42 years of acting, Attai has no work. Neither do his two sons, who were also in the movie and music business. Attai is glad the streets are now safe, but he has 13 family members to feed and no way to feed them.
He asked local authorities for any job, even collecting garbage. There was nothing. So he started selling his belongings. “I have no hope right now,” he says. Even begging is now punished by imprisonment under the Taliban.
Over the past year, he has become frail. His cheeks are sunken, his frame thinner. There’s a sadness in his eyes that rarely leaves, even when he recounts his glory days.
“We made good movies before,” he says. “May God have mercy that music and cinema will be allowed again, and the people will rebuild the country hand in hand, and the government will come closer to the people and embrace each other as friends and brothers.”
PINPRICKS OF GLITZ
The shimmering lights of wedding halls cut through the gloom as night encroaches on Kabul, pinpricks of glitz in the darkness.
Despite the economic slump, wedding halls are doing a brisk trade, buoyed in part by wealthier Afghan emigres returning home for traditional marriage ceremonies now that the security situation has improved.
Weddings are a big part of Afghan culture, and families sometimes bankrupt themselves to ensure a lavish party for hundreds or even thousands of guests.
Construction of the Imperial Continental wedding hall began four years ago but was disrupted by the COVID pandemic and the Taliban takeover. The opulent venue finally opened its doors last year.
Manager Mohammad Wesal Quaoni, 30, cuts a dapper figure in a sharp suit as he sweeps through the glamorous, cavernous halls, juggling four weddings in one night. The former Kabul University lecturer in economics and politics is trying to ensure the business thrives amid the country’s economic woes. It’s not easy.
“Business is weak,” he says, and onerous government rules and regulations don’t help. The Taliban are raising taxes, but he says there isn’t enough commerce to support a healthy tax base.
The ban on music and dancing doesn’t help. Gone are the live musicians and even the DJs who would bring in extra revenue, Quaoni says. Weddings are segregated by gender but, for once, there’s sometimes a bit more fun for the women.
Occasionally women and girls enjoy taped music in the ladies’ section. “If they want, they do it,” restrictions or not, he said. “Women will be women.”
Five hundred miles west of the capital, on the outskirts of the city of Herat, businessman Abdul Khaleq Khodadadi, 39, has an entirely different set of challenges.
Rayan Saffron Company, where he is vice president, exports the prized spice to customers, mainly in Europe and the US But the Taliban takeover and ensuing sanctions left many foreign clients reluctant to do business with an Afghan company – even though it’s one of the few still allowed to employ women, whose hands are deemed more suitable than men’s to extracting and handling the delicate crocus flowers.
The isolation of the banking sector has also left many Afghan companies with no way to trade except through a third country, usually Pakistan, which significantly increases costs. Then there’s drought that has decimated crops, including saffron.
His company had aimed to increase their production this year. Instead, their production fell to half of what it was three years ago, he says.
Khodadadi says he is determined to persevere. For him, successful businesses are the best way to heal Afghanistan’s wounds.
In the chaotic early days of the Taliban takeover, Khodadadi felt intense pressure to join the tens of thousands of people who fled, he says. He had a visa and family and friends urged him to leave, but he refused to go.
“It was very, very hard,” he recalls. “But ... if I leave, if all the talented people, educated people leave, who will make this country? When will this country solve the problems?”
Indian Parliament passes law that will reserve 33 percent of legislature seats for women from 2029
Law ends 27-year impasse over the bill amid a lack of consensus among political parties
But the wait is still not over as the new law will not apply to next year’s national elections
Updated 22 September 2023
AP
NEW DELHI: India’s Parliament has approved landmark legislation that reserves 33 percent of the seats in its powerful lower house and in state legislatures for women to ensure more equal representation, ending a 27-year impasse over the bill amid a lack of consensus among political parties.
But the wait is still not over, as the new law will not apply to next year’s national elections.
It will be implemented in the 2029 national elections following a new census and adjustment of voting districts after next year’s polls, Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman said during a debate in the upper house of India’s Parliament on Thursday night.
The lower house of Parliament approved the legislation on Wednesday with a 454-2 vote, and the upper house passed it unanimously, 214-0, late Thursday.
India’s once-a-decade census was to be held in 2021 but was delayed due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
All opposition parties supported the bill and said the delay in its implementation is an injustice to women. They demanded it apply to the next national elections, which are due to be held before May next year.
Under the legislation, the reservation of seats for women would continue for 15 years and could be extended by Parliament. Only women will be allowed to contest 33 percent of the seats in the elected lower house of Parliament and in state legislatures.
Home Minister Shah said four attempts by three governments since 1996 failed to enact the legislation.
Women comprise over 48 percent of India’s more than 1.4 billion people but have 15.1 percent representation in Parliament, compared to the international average of 24 percent, Law and Justice Minister Arjun Ram Meghwal said. In India’s state legislatures, women hold about 10 percent of the seats.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party and the opposition Congress party have been trying to enact legislation in Parliament to bring about gender parity and inclusive governance since 1996. They faced opposition from regional parties, which argued that seats reserved for women would be cornered by the educated elite from urban areas, leaving poor and less educated women unrepresented.
But opposition to the bill waned over the years, “giving way to broader symbolic politics where it is crucial to being perceived as responsive to emerging constituencies — like women,” wrote the Indian Express newspaper.
India is a patriarchal society in which the social status of work done by women is often considered inferior to that done by men. Men also often enjoy greater rights than women.
