Afghanistan.
I wrote most of this last night, August 24th, 2021. This morning, news has already changed and things have deteriorated further.
For the past week, I’ve been watching and hearing fragments of the current chaos in Afghanistan; people desperate enough to cling to the side of an aircraft, falling to their death, as the plane leaves Kabul in dust and blood. I watched a video of a woman, barely visible in a thick cloud of people, lifting a baby over her head and into the hand of a foreign soldier behind a barbed-wire fence. Baby in his left hand. Machine gun in his right.
These stories are like broken pieces of pottery excavated from the site of an ancient civilization. We’re not seeing the full picture, and we never will.
Amnesty International recently interviewed eye-witnesses who shared stories of brutal torture and murder of civilian men. As one of them buried a victim at the demands of the Taliban, they asked why the man had been executed.
“When it is the time of conflict, everyone dies, it doesn’t matter if you have guns or not. It is the time of war.”
The time of war is now, and most of us don’t have guns.
This isn’t history, reminding us of the evil we human beings are capable of. It’s screenshots of What’s App messages and Tik-Tok videos showing us everything unfolding in real-time.
The Taliban have set a deadline: August 31st.
That’s this Tuesday. After this Tuesday, foreign military will no longer be permitted at the Kabul Airport.
And then what?
The recent number I heard was 15,000.
15,000 people at the airport, hoping to get out — anywhere but here. And that’s just people at the airport. How many more are hiding?
I only see half-truths. Pieces of news.
But one thing is obvious: a lot of people are terrified of what will happen to them and their children under the reign of the Taliban.
I wanted to do something. Anything. I prayed, which felt like the only thing I could do.
I wanted to throw money at the first GoFundMe campaign I came across. But I didn’t. I slept on it.
I learned about a few groups with plans; real plans with experienced people to help. I checked out their Instagram pages. I checked out their donation pages. I watched more videos and read more articles.
I said to my wife, “before we donate, I want to see them actually get an airplane in and out of there — I want to know there isn’t something other than funding that’s keeping these guys from helping.”
Tonight, I opened Instagram to see where the different groups were at. Some were close to hitting their funding goals. Others were way ahead.
One group was different.
@thenazarenefund had an update that included photos of women and children boarding an airplane and leaving Kabul— a third plane ready to go —and plans to keep sending more for as long as they could.
Over 1,000 people had been given a way out.
Maybe it was time to give.
I explained to my two young boys the diluted version of what’s happening in Afghanistan. How soldiers were doing horrible, evil things to certain people; hurting and killing them — and that those people are stuck and can’t leave. I told them I can’t really do anything about it — I don’t know how to fly airplanes and get civilians out of dangerous situations. But there are people who do.
I asked my oldest if he thought I should give them some money to help. He told me they should get a big ray-gun, put the bad guys in one spot, and blast them. But yeah, money was an okay idea too.
So we sent some money. Not because money is the answer, but because it’s a small way to help the helpers.
This whole thing is going to blow over for those of us watching from a distance. It’ll be history, like every other terrible thing that’s happened under the sun. But there’s a small window propped open for a few more days or hours — and I want to play a small part in keeping it open for a little longer. Maybe you do too.
thenazarenefund.org
IG: @thenazarenefund