ABSTRACT
The electricity is often out in the Pakistani neighborhoods where RAWA houses are located. But the power outage during my 3-day stay at RAWA’s Azadi hostel in January 2002 was worse than usual. So it was not surprising to find myself sitting around a single candle one evening with a group of teenage girls, talking about RAWA. The conditions inspired one of the girls to make an analogy: “RAWA is a candle in the dark night. We follow it but there is always a wind that is trying to blow it out.” The wind she was referring to was the enemies of RAWA-fundamentalists, antidemocratic forces, all those who don’t want to hear the voices of these independently minded and outspoken Afghan women. I asked her if everyone would follow RAWA’s candle if they could see it, and her reply was perceptive: “Without knowledge of the specifics of the candle you don’t know to walk toward it. People are careful, because candles can also burn.” Right after this comment the electricity came back on and one of the girls immediately blew out the candle. But no sooner had the smoke begun to rise from the wick than the electricity went off again. In the ensuing darkness there was a scramble to find the matches and relight the flame. I remember the jolt of recognition and apprehension that I felt. My field notes record my response:
May this not happen to RAWA. Right now they are the only light visible, but when Afghanistan gets brighter around them, they will have another struggle to project their light and vision amongst the neon of economic development, inter national hype, and those who think that the light of their candle is no longer necessary now that Afghan women have been “liberated” by the U.S. bombs and defeat of the Taliban.
